A Flaw in My Code
by charmingcontender
Summary: "Stay with me." The plea is a demand, has just enough force to be an order. "Command: accepted." OR, The fallout of the Winter Soldier's acts of terror have far reaching consequences.


The asset breaks through the surface, holding the mission tightly against its chest with its working arm. It ensures the mission is not breathing in the contaminated water and takes in the current situation as it uses its legs to propel the two of them to the riverbank opposite the government center.

The final air carrier is approximately 57 meters above the water and losing altitude rapidly. The river is thick with flight fluids and gasoline; debris hit and sink at regular intervals, creating obstacles to swim around and avoid.

The mission is unconscious, weighs approximately 120 kilograms, has lost of a minimum of one liter of blood, has fluid in his lungs, and has sustained injuries from the asset: three gunshot wounds - outer left thigh, outer left bicep, upper left abdominal - possible cracked or broken ribs, shallow laceration to the upper right pectoral, broken jaw, shattered cheekbone, split lip, black eyes, bruised and bloody temple, probable concussion. All injuries given by the asset should heal without aid if the mission is enhanced similarly to the asset. The fluid in the mission's chest is priority. As the asset's feet reach the silty bottom of the river bank, the asset's mind jumps to the task of retrieving the mission's weapon of choice before disregarding the task. The mission threw the shield away, doesn't want it anymore, wants the asset instead. The asset is the mission's new weapon of choice.

As the asset slogs through the knee-high water and gasoline, it quickly assess its own functionality and injury tolerance levels. Dislocated right shoulder, deeply bruised right thigh, severe bruising of chest and abdominals from the steel beam, probable internal organ damage to spleen, kidneys, and liver. The asset has been out of cryogenesis for 102 hours; it has 18 hours before it will require a minimum of two 90-minute sleep cycles. Functionality: acceptable. Injury tolerance: approved. All damage will heal without medical aid, but the limb must be placed back into joint.

The asset sets the mission on the grass above the water as gingerly as it can with only one functional arm before leaning against the nearest tree and reinstating the weaker shoulder. It strides back to the mission, kneels, and begins chest compressions. Nine in and the mission rolls, spitting out water and vile liquid. As the mission lies on his back once more, his unfocused eyes catch sight of the asset. Without fear, he reaches a shaky hand out to the asset. The asset does not move, allows the mission to desperately grip the kevlar covering its torso, to pull his head and shoulders onto the asset's thighs, curl around the asset's body.

"Stay. Don't leave me again," the mission shudders out a sob and the asset does not know what to do. "Stay with me."

The plea is a demand, has just enough force to be an order.

"Command: accepted."

The mission lets out another sob before coughing out more contaminated fluid and falling unconscious again. The asset quickly moves the mission off its thighs, pulls up the blue and so very red uniform shirt to check the bullet wound, which has stopped bleeding; the asset can see the flesh knitting itself slowly back together. The mission must have a higher enhanced level of healing than the asset. Condition: approved.

The asset is a highly desired weapon, does the best work; it knows this and it has selected a new master. Its previous handlers will not be pleased. Complete muscle control keeps the shiver from working its way through the asset's frame. The asset throws all weaponry with locators into the flaming river, only seven knives remain. It strips out of its uniform, takes the slenderest blade, cuts out the four chemical-laden trackers in its flesh - inner right groin, upper left iliac crest, lower sternum, posterior to the right ear. The asset removes plates from its arm, extracts the two separate trackers carefully, and re-plates its arm. All the locators then follow the trackable weaponry into the river. The mission is searched for locators, but there are none to be found.

The sound of helicopters - surveillance - draws the asset's attention. Time elapsed since the mission fell from the carrier: 2 minutes 57 seconds. The asset quickly redresses before it hauls the mission over its left shoulder and takes cover under the trees, running away from the government building, the burning carriers, and its old handlers.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

The asset runs until the light woods end. 38 meters away is a suburban area that appears deserted for the moment. 52 yards away and next to a brick house, there is a family van with tinted windows. It will have a Global Positioning System, but it will have to do; they must leave immediately. The asset checks the perimeter once more before running top speed to the vehicle, setting the asset against the rear tire between the house and the vehicle, hiding them from sight. The asset jimmies open the front door, then unlocks the sliding back door and puts the center row of seats down. It lifts the mission into the vehicle, positions him on the floor so that he cannot be seen, then it slides the door shut and climbs in the front seat. There is a jacket in the passenger seat and sunglasses in the door; the asset quickly applies both piece of clothing, zipping the coat, pulling up the hood, and covering its left arm completely. Within seconds, it has hot-wired the vehicle and driven away from the house.

The asset drives northwest for four hours before it finds an acceptable cover in a dying town. It drives to the next large city, finds an old, untrackable vehicle before parking six blocks away from it in an area without camera surveillance. The asset leaves the mission unconscious in the family van while it walks inconspicuously to its new vehicular target. It hot-wires the new, older car and returns to the mission, performing a quick and unobserved transfer before driving back to the woods at the edge of the south side of the town selected for its reduced population, surrounding woods, and empty factories on the northern border.

The asset continues into the forest, conceals the small car as best as it is able before exiting. It rounds the car, opens the passenger door, begins to lift the mission out.

"Buck? Wha's goin' on?" The mission is coming out of his stupor, but is in no condition to be running; it is the asset's job to protect the mission.

"Cover: acquired. Transport: in progress."

"Lemme walk. I can walk, Buck."

The words are not a command, so the asset ignores them. It lifts the mission over both shoulders and begins a fast jog through the woods to the north side of town. Distance: 6 kilometers. Estimated time of arrival with a 120 kilogram load and below optimum performance: 17 minutes. Time remaining before sleep cycle is required for continued performance: 12 hours 33 minutes.

When the asset reaches the edge of the woods at the north edge of town, it determines that the mission must walk to avoid detection. In the Captain America uniform, he will only draw more attention. It puts the mission down, positions him against a large tree facing away from the town.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

Steve is nauseous and lightheaded. He lost a lot of blood and his body is working overtime to heal the damage from the bullets and Bucky beating his face in. Maybe there was some kind of fluid somewhere too because his mouth tastes like gasoline. Right, the river. Man, he's out of it; it is a good thing Bucky didn't let him run, that must have been at least ten miles. Ten miles that Bucky just ran with injuries and a 265 pound deadweight. Steve cringes, but Bucky's voice pulls him out of his musings.

"Remain stationary. It will return in under 16 minutes."

"What will return, Buck?"

Bucky just stares at him like he's a moron.

"The asset."

The asset? Who's the as- Steve is sure his heart just fell into his guts. He wants to cry, but instead he clarifies.

"You're the asset."

Bucky nods, keeps watching him like he was dropped on his head one too many times as a child.

"I'll stay right here for 16 minutes, then I'm coming searching for you."

Steve thinks Bucky wants to roll his eyes.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

Internally, the asset rolls his eyes. Of course it'll be back before the mission must come find it.

"Confirmed."

The asset arms the mission with its best knife. Handlers must always be armed in the asset's presence. The mission is not a handler; he is . . . more. The asset arms him anyway; the asset is dangerous, but not to the mission, it hopes. The asset is not allowed to hope.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

When Bucky returns fourteen and a half minutes later, Steve is much more coherent. With the glasses and the hoodie covering his upper half and his uniform pants being able to pass for black jeans in the twilight, Steve thinks Bucky looks like a scruffy college student. The backpack full of what must be supplies only cements the look. Bucky unzips a compartment and tosses clothes at him, sweatpants and an undershirt, a massive hoodie.

"Change."

Steve carefully strips out of his '40s uniform and puts on the things Bucky brought for him, tucks the knife Bucky gave him into the waistband of the sweatpants he was given. Bucky hands him a water bottle and an energy bar, which Steve consumes gratefully while Bucky folds and packs the bloody and torn uniform.

"The mission must walk now."

The mission. Steve. Steve is Bucky's mission. Steve can walk, no problem. He stands cautiously, gets his balance. Bucky turns to walk away and Steve can't take it anymore.

"Bucky?" It's thready. High. Needy. Steve would loathe anyone to hear it but the man in front of him.

Bucky freezes, waits for Steve to continue.

"Are you going to-" His voice breaks and he hates it. "Are you going to stay?" With me?

"The asset is the mission's weapon. Mission parameters: protect the mission."

Bucky starts to walk again. Steve is so happy he could cry, so he does, quietly, while he walks behind his . . . weapon. Steve's weapon. Steve's Bucky. It doesn't matter what he is, as long as he is Steve's.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

Bucky effortlessly broke into the building he had selected as their housing for the night. He had just as effortlessly swept the premises, and set up a single set of bedding. He doesn't know if Bucky did that out of habit or if he remembers that he and Steve used to share a bed. He doubts it's the latter.

After his final lap around the warehouse, Bucky approaches Steve, who is sitting on the make-shift mattress. "The asset must perform a minimum of two sleep-cycles. In 11 hours 27 minutes, it will be unable to prevent unconsciousness."

Unable to prevent unconsciousness? Passing out?

"How long have you been awake?"

"108 hours 33 minutes."

Steve blinks. Even for him, five days without sleep is pushing the limit.

"The mission should sleep. It will keep guard."

Oh, hell no.

"You know what, Buck? I slept for five hours in the car and for five hours last night. Why don't you let me keep watch and you can sleep first."

Bucky eyes him, unconvinced; Steve juts out his jaw. Bucky concedes, sits against the wall, closes his eyes.

"Is that how you're going to sleep?"

Bucky eyes him in annoyance.

"Okay, that's fine but, if you want to, you can lay down. I won't let anything happen and if someone comes I'll wake you up right away."

Bucky keeps his back against the wall, but does lay on his right side on the bedding. With the way he's curled, there's a spot between his arms and his thighs just the right size for Steve. Steve scoots backwards slowly, keeping his face and chest forward, letting Bucky see Steve trusts him with his undefended back, knows Bucky is very aware of his every movement.

"If you want me to stop at any point, you tell me." He tries to infuse a command in his statement, has pieced parts of the puzzle that is James Barnes' thought process together.

He slides into the space Bucky's body seems to have left for him; the moment he has his lower back snugged up with Bucky's stomach and his upper shoulders resting against the wall, Bucky places his upper arm - his metal arm - across Steve's lap, locking him in place. He seems startled by his action, but does not remove his limb. It makes Steve warm inside. He slowly reaches out, gently places his left hand on Bucky's wrist, softly brushes his thumb back and forth. Bucky tenses minutely, but doesn't pull away; Steve continues rubbing long after his friend has relaxed and fallen asleep.

Steve's mind is full to bursting; Bucky trusts him enough to sleep, defenseless and vulnerable, in Steve's presence. Steve himself can barely do such a thing since he has thawed out; it is the most direct and meaningful demonstration Bucky could give: I know you won't harm me, now I am going to prove it. Steve cannot suck in enough air, his lungs cannot expand, he's a 90 pound asthmatic with a bad heart and he can't breath. He needs this time to collect himself, determine how he's going to approach the situation, handle this highly-traumatized-soldier-inhuman-weapon-chose-a-new-wielder-buckybuckybuckybuckybucky. Deep breath. Release. Deep breath. Release. Make a list. Lists are good. They help. He made lists before the war, during the war, after he woke up. Lists are good. They help. Deep breath. Release. Deep breath. Release. Make a list.

What is Known:

Bucky pulled him from the Potomac after he fell out of the Helicarrier. Bucky's alive.

Steve asked him to stay with him; Bucky stayed. Bucky's alive.

Bucky got them away when Steve could not; protected them from the fallout, from Hydra, from Shield. Bucky's alive.

Bucky's mind is not broken, not just a fighting machine; he put together a working getaway plan and carried it out. Bucky's alive.

Bucky's mind works differently and that's okay; Steve just needs to learn how to communicate so they are both understood. Bucky's alive.

Bucky said he's Steve's now - Steve's weapon. Bucky's alive.

Bucky thinks he's a weapon - Steve's weapon. Bucky's alive.

He remembers or instinctively knows Steve enough to want to be Steve's weapon. And he wants to be Steve's.

Bucky is curled around him, relaxes at his touch. And he wants to be Steve's.

Bucky talks infrequently, but understands. And he wants to be Steve's.

Bucky has insane levels of endurance, is obviously enhanced. And he wants to be Steve's.

Bucky understands orders, responds to orders, probably needs orders. And he wants to be Steve's.

Steve is still rubbing Bucky's wrist, feel much calmer after sorting through the basics. He looks down at Bucky to find him staring back. It can't have been much longer than an hour and a half since he fell asleep. Steve quirks an eyebrow. Bucky's eyes smile at him before they close and he drifts off once more. Okay, a second list. Lists are good. They help.

What Must Be Done:

Check Bucky for wounds once he's slept and is more comfortable with Steve. Steve's Bucky.

Make him eat, change. Wash up? Buckybuckybuckybucky.

Test orders theory. Find out how comfortable he is making choices outside of missions. Bucky's Steve.

See if there are any chemicals, locators, or triggers that will shut Bucky down or kill him. Steve's Bucky.

Check that the arm is in good condition and not harming him; maybe Stark? Bucky's Steve.

Encourage expanding independence and opinions as the opportunity arises, future? Buckybuckybucky.

Find files, Nat?, clear name, if needed. Bucky is mine.

Steve rubs Bucky's wrist and creates lists the rest of the night and most of the next day. Bucky sleeps for 18 hours, waking every 90 minutes exactly. At about 1400, Bucky wakes and stays awake.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

The asset's eyes snap open, scanning the room for threats. It has cycled its way through 18 hours, all injuries have mended, and it has returned to optimal performance. The mission remains wrapped inside the asset, two sustenance bar wrappers and four empty water bottles around him. The asset finds the body heat of the mission acceptable.

"Buck?" It gives the mission its attention. "I gotta pee. Do you gotta pee?"

Pee?

"Uh, you should urinate, if you need to. It's been a while."

The asset understands, pushes itself to a standing position, strides to the restroom door it found in the warehouse; the mission follows. It ensures the room is empty, then gestures the mission to use the toilet.

"Don't you have to go, Buck?"

"The mission is priority."

The mission sighs, but goes in and starts his business. He leaves the door open so the asset can keep a visual on him.

"Hey, Buck, when was the last time you ate."

Ate? The asset does not understand the term.

"Sorry. When did you last receive sustenance? Nourishment?"

The mission is misinformed as to how the asset operates. Unknowledgable is more probable. That is acceptable; the asset can teach him asset protocol.

"The asset does not 'ate'. It receives an intravenous nutrition solution containing all necessary nutrients and calories for optimal performance."

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

Steve freezes tucking himself back into his pants. He doesn't eat. They didn't feed him. How many years? He cannot quite keep the edge of anger out of his voice as he turns on his heel towards Bucky. "Do you know how long they had you on the nutrition solution?"

"It is has been given the solution every time it has been out of cryogenesis. It cannot remember dates; it was sent to the chair."

The chair? What is the chair?

He must have asked that out loud. There is a look of absolute terror on Bucky's face, but his words are steady, mechanical. "The chair is for forgetting."

Steve thinks he might vomit. Instead, he says as solidly as he can,"All done, your turn. You want me to leave?"

"The mission should remain in room perimeter." Right, he's staying in here. Get a grip, Rogers, no chucking up the food you have in your stomach. Value it, Bucky probably hasn't eaten in decades. Shit, his stomach isn't going to be able to handle almost anything at all. Broth. He needs more calories than that. Nutrition shakes. We need to get some nutrition shakes ASAP.

"Buck," Bucky turns, closing his pants, "I need to look at your injuries. Is that okay?"

"Situation: approved."

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

The asset walks out to the bed roll, strips off its hoodie and kevlar on the way, turns to face the mission. It is anticipating an after-mission clinical, distanced and detached. This is not that. The mission steps closer, reaches out a hand, but freezes before making contact. He tries to look it in the eye, is so earnest that it tries to force itself so maintain eye contact against all prior conditioning.

"Bucky, is it okay if I touch you?"

The mission is asking too many questions, expecting the asset to have answers beyond the carry out and completion of its missions. But the mission does not know, was not instructed on how the asset operates, was not informed of proper asset protocol. No one in power of the asset asks its consent of anything - missions, modification, contact, cryogenesis, the chair, it does not matter, it is not asked. The asset does not know how to give consent, but it tries for the mission.

"Affirmative."

The mission's fingers are calloused but gentle. Kind, it should not know that word. The asset would arch into the touch if it had less control over its body. He skims his fingertips over the healed bruising of its torso before moving his hands to where its shoulder was dislocated. He traces the scars that surround its left arm, pauses and sucks in a deep breath, speaks.

"Buck, we need to get this looked at; it could be hurting you."

The asset does not want - the asset is not allowed to want - the sensation to end, would allow anything for hands on its body.

"Negative. All locators and chemical deployers were removed upon exiting the river with the mission. Upper left limb is fully functional."

The mission unconsciously put more weight behind his fingers, revealing frustration and anger but not at the asset. The asset is unsettled and pleased and unsettled that it is pleased.

"Buck, it could be hurting your body just by being attached. It doesn't matter if the trackers and drugs are gone; it could be ripping its way through wherever the bastards attached it!" The mission is angry and visibly attempts to calm himself. The asset does not want; it does not come equipped with want. But the asset knows it does not want the mission to worry, so it attempts to console the mission, a foreign and unfamiliar sensation.

"The arm is properly integrated into the asset. The Russians were better than the Americans."

The fingers on its shoulder flex before the mission removes his hand. Internally, the asset whines at the loss.

"We'll talk about it later. Do you want to change?" The asset's body would begin buzzing if it would allow it; the asset does not get asked its opinion. "You're covered in blood, gas, and mud; you should change." That is better; not exactly an order, but it gives direction, narrows the options, tells the asset what it should do. It grabs bottoms, a top, a jacket out of the sack of pilfered supplies. It removes its boot and socks before stripping off its pants, intending to apply the new clothing.

"Wait." The asset halts its motion. "Let's clean off the blood and dirt first; you and me both, we're filthy. Come on, back to the bathroom." The mission takes off his top and bottoms, standing naked with the asset. The asset knows what comes after this, does not allow itself to tense, does not allow itself to melt.

"This way then."

The mission walks toward the room containing the toilet and the asset follows meekly. The asset is prepared, will take anything for the touch to continue, but all that happens is the mission wetting his undershirt and wiping the grime off the asset and himself before walking back to the bedroll and clothing on the floor. The asset is confused; perhaps the mission wanted to be clean first, but, no, he is replacing his bottoms and the jacket. The mission does not understand American asset protocol. Perhaps he will be more like the Russians, but the mission is American, so it should follow American asset protocol. It must inform the mission.

"The mission is not following standard American asset protocol."

The mission is confused. "Buck?"

The asset is not positive on how to word the procedure; the Russians designated all protocol, but the Americans did not give a designation to the protocols they added. The asset must describe the protocol how the Americans do. Maybe the mission does not wish to follow the added American actions. The asset would not miss the act, does not like the act, loves the touch, torsos, hands, arms, thighs, all in contact with it. The asset is not allowed to like or not like, the asset does as it's told. It is unsure, unstable. The mission is different. Still the asset must inform its superior. The statement comes out as a question, but the asset is so confused, does not understand.

"Is the mission not going to "fuck" it?"

The mission goes bone white, makes a high, keening sound.

"No!" The reply is vehement. Russian protocol then. "No, I am not. 'Standard American asset protocol?' That was standard? That's not- I- I'm- I'm going to be sick."

The mission is not exaggerating, runs to the room with the toilet, vomits into the bowl. The asset walks quickly after him; it did not mean to make him distraught, wants -the asset is not allowed to want - to comfort him. It rests its right hand between the mission's shoulder blades as he vomits. It speaks as gently as it knows how, tries to fix what it broke. "The Russians were better."

It meant to make it better, but it did not. The mission curls over the porcelain toilet and begins to cry. The asset does not understand, kneels there naked next to the mission, does not try to fix it again, but does keep rubbing between his shoulderblades. The mission cries himself dry, wipes off his face, takes the asset's hand, walks them back to the bedroll.

"Get dressed, please." The voice is hoarse and it makes the asset hurt somewhere inside. The asset is not allowed to hurt. Wearing clothing seems to give the mission some of the comfort that the asset's words did not. The mission attempts to speak, clears his throat, starts again.

"We need to get you some nutrition shakes. You won't be able to keep solid food down after only nutrition solution." The asset agrees, pulls out a wad of cash, hats, sunglasses, and a pair of sneakers for the mission.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

Steve limps home, trying to stifle the excruciating pain along with the sobs that will send him into an asthma attack. Bucky. He wants Bucky now more than he has since his mother died, wants Bucky's comfort, his protection. Steve's shirt is ripped, trousers covered in dirt and beginning to soak up the blood leaking from between his thighs. Steve knows he's small, pretty, knows what men think about him. Steve goes looking for fights - sometimes to stand up for what's right, sometimes to blow off steam. He didn't go looking for this, didn't seek it out, didn't take this beating for having a big mouth and tiny fists. They just grabbed him, hauled him into the alley. He wasn't prepared, wasn't given the opportunity to fight back before he was left dumped on the ground like so much garbage. Bucky. Steve knows he's whimpering, but he can't quite seem to silence it.

He makes it up the stairs. The light is on; Bucky is home. He staggers to the door, pushes it open.

"Hey Stevie, I was thinking-," Bucky's face gets tight when he's concerned; he can see Steve's beaten face, ripped shirt, dirtied pants. It's not too different from any other fight, except that it is so, so different. "What happened?" Steve can't speak, stumbles his way into Bucky's chest, feels Bucky wrap his arms tightly around him. "Hey. Steve, what happe-"

Steve knows the exact moment Bucky puts it together, sees the blood though the seat of his slacks. Bucky goes very still. Steve forces himself to look up. Bucky's face is completely blank; there is no expression at all. His jaw is not clenched; his lips are not pressed together; he is not yelling or crying or brushing it off. He is just blank. It terrifies Steve. Bucky must be able to tell because he pulls Steve in close, cradles his head against his collarbones, but his expression does not change.

"Come on, let's get you cleaned up."

Bucky makes quiet, soothing sounds while he heats up water and washes Steve, while he dresses Steve in a singlet and shorts and bundles him up in the double bed, while he slides in behind Steve and Steve presses as close as he possibly can. The entire time Bucky's face does not change; it is blank.

Twelve days later, Steve hears about three men who were found with all their faces broken beyond recognition and their testicles crushed. Steve feels a dark pleasure at how far James Barnes will go for Steve Rogers.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

Steve refuses to fall apart any further; Bucky needs him unbroken right now. They put on the disguising clothing that Bucky pulled out of the backpack. Steve thinks of Natasha and their playacting in the mall. The two of them are going to have to go in public and not be caught, not be noticed. This will be a good time to see how Bucky reacts to his ability to make choices on his own.

They simply walk out of the warehouse and down the street like they have every right to be there, baggy sweatpants, hoods up, glasses on. They make it into the lived-in portion of the rundown town and stroll into a small grocery store. Bucky looks relaxed, but Steve knows his tells from years of watching him prepare for a fight. Bucky is hyper-aware, ready to snap, ready to kill. Steve sways a bit closer, brushes their shoulders together, sees his friend calm just a tad. He wonders if the only time Bucky had any kind of touch from his Hydra handlers is when they were raping him, wonders if he desires touch so badly that he will submit himself to it for the feeling of skin on skin. It makes him wants to peel their skin away and burn it for their audacity.

They make it to the aisle that holds the nutrition shakes. "Want to choose the flavor, Buck?"

Steve is watching closely. The air around Bucky is roiling; he is visibly uncomfortable, ready to strike out. "I always preferred the chocolate myself." Simple as that, Bucky relaxes, reaches out for chocolate shakes. They get ten boxes, along with protein powder and vitamin supplement pills that will be easy to crush, six jars of crunchy peanut butter, three tins of canned beef, and a disposable tracphone.

Steve catches Bucky's eye, keeps contact, is specific with his wording. "Is there anything else you need?"

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Need. Translation: imperative to function.

"The mask."

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

Steve's breath is liquid in his lungs, but his voice is steady. "The mask you wore on the bridge." It wasn't a question, but Bucky nods anyway. He's ninety pounds and a crooked spine and useless. He has to think. Make a list. What was the mask? It was a way to keep him silent and faceless to Steve, but what did it mean for Bucky? What was so important about it that he needs it? It was a muzzle, a sign of control for when Bucky was let off the chain to do their dirty work, to remind him that someone at the other end is holding the leash . . . and Steve feels like an idiot because of course Bucky wants a leash.

Steve woke up in this century and he was overwhelmed by all the options, all the choices. He still has full-fledged panic attacks on a regular basis, is fighting one off right now. But for someone who has had every choice, every action dictated to them for the last half-century? He can't even begin to imagine.

Bucky is a weapon, thinks of himself as a weapon. A weapon's first instinct is to obey; his second is to kill; his third is to kill in order to obey. When there is no one to obey, what is left? How do you react? How do you not walk out the door and destroy everyone in sight just for existing?

And Steve gets it. To Bucky, the mask is a muzzle; it is a reminder that weapons only kill as instructed, trained dogs only attack when ordered, that everyone else is to be left alone. To Bucky, the mask is restraint. But the mask is only a symbol, will only ever be a symbol, and Steve knows just how hard it is for symbols to live up to people's expectations.

Bucky doesn't want the mask, not really; he want what the mask represents. Bucky is a beaten dog and sometimes beaten dogs are feral, vicious. He wants someone to hold the other end of his leash that is so deeply embedded in his head, wants to be told who to kill and who to let live, wants to be taken care of and this is the only way he can possibly express that desire.

Bucky deserves to be taken care of after so long being thought of as a commodity. And if what Bucky wants, what he needs, is a provider, a muzzle, a commanding voice, and a hand at the other end of the leash, Steve can be that. He can be whatever Bucky needs.

Steve pulls himself out of his head to find Bucky staring intensely at him, both standing in the middle of the pharmacy aisle.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

The asset can barely contain itself, wants to rip out the throats of the staff and gut the customers, wants to rig the building to blow and set off the detonator. It wants to string the large intestine of the short, white-haired man who had scowled at the asset's and the mission's proximity around the shelves and paint itself in his blood. It would be simple, so very simple.

It refrains because it does not have orders. It belongs to the mission now, but the mission does not understand asset protocol. It is a loaded weapon with the safety off and no one to aim; the lightest touch could set it off and the asset does not want - the asset is not allowed to want - to kill without orders, but it will, if there is not one in control. The asset cannot be in control; it does not know how to be in control. It must have orders; it needs orders. The asset does not have needs and the asset needs orders.

The mission refocuses, is solemn. "If you really want it, I can get you a mask." The mission takes a deep breath. "But if the mask is not what you really need, I can give you orders. I'm sorry; I did not understand, but I think I get it a little better now, and I can give you orders, if that is what you need."

The asset would sag if that was not conditioned out of it, would smile wide if it could remember how. Instead, it nods and, for some unknown reason, grasps the mission's hand. It determines holding the mission's hand is an acceptable form of expression. He and it go to the counter, pay for the items in physical money, and walk back to the cover in a roundabout way to mislead any curious eyes. He and it are still grasping hands.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

As they walk back to the warehouse, Steve uses the time to adjust to his new role. He saw how Bucky practically fell over with relief when Steve stepped up to take command. Steve can do this; it's what Bucky needs and Steve can do this. Right. Deep breath. Release. Focus on Bucky's palm in his.

There's something else he can offer: physical touch without demanding payment, without pain. Steve needs to call Natasha, contact Stark, but not yet. He can be selfish with Bucky's attention for a few days more. They make it back to the warehouse and Steve begins to grind up the vitamins, he pauses.

"Buck." Bucky's eyes are intensely focused on him. "How many calories do you need?" Steve could slap himself. His own metabolism spiked from the serum and he needs at least 7,000 calories a day, 10,000 if he's expended a lot of energy. The peanut butter and beef, which sounds disgusting together, should last six days, if he's careful. Bucky's enhanced; there's no way these nutrition shakes are going to be enough unless he's drinking 20-25 a day. His stomach most likely won't be able to handle that much volume. He needs the solution they came up with for Steve when they thawed him out; Stark could probably figure it out. There's no way in heaven or hell that he's taking Bucky anywhere near the government right now.

"Asset minimum caloric intake: 6,825. Asset maximum caloric intake limit: 10,185. Asset standard caloric intake: 8,438." It makes Steve sick that he knows those exact numbers, makes him want to cut out the stomachs of every HYDRA member and boil them. These shakes are only going to last for four days max, even on a starvation diet. He really needs to call Natasha.

Steve finishes adding the protein powder and supplements to the shake in his hand. "Here. Drink this slowly. I don't want you to sick up."

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

The asset does as it's told. The fluid is strange in its mouth. The only liquid it has swallowed since it was created is the fluid from the cryopod and semen. It cannot decide - the asset is not allowed to decide - if it likes the "chocolate shake." It empties the fragile plastic container of the solution and looks to the mission for approval. The mission smiles at it and the asset's chest hurts with its intense pleasure.

The mission sits on the bedroll against the wall and hold out his upper right limb. "You can come sit with me, if you'd like." The asset would like -the asset is not allowed to like. It curls itself under the mission's arm and he begins the runs his fingers gently through its hair. Russian protocol. The asset's zygomaticus major wishes to contract; the asset does not allow it, but internally growls its satisfaction. The mission takes good care of his weapons.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

Bucky is practically purring and arching into Steve's hand rubbing his head. They sit there for hours, Steve occasionally handing Buck another shake. Steve does not remove his hand from him at all, and Bucky has migrated from sitting statue still next to him to essentially becoming a puddle of goo in his lap.

He knows, as Captain America, that he should be in D.C., helping with the cleanup and reassuring the citizens. He knows, as Captain Rogers, that he should contact someone, check on Natasha and Sam, Hill, Fury, see what happened after the Helicarriers fell. As Steve, the kid from Brooklyn, bird-boned and violent and revolving around James Barnes, he just can't bring himself to give a damn because Bucky is here. He was on American soil, being used by the American government for years.

Steve doesn't think that is something he can forgive.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

They continue this way - not talking much, but always touching, taking comfort in the other, Bucky making his expressions exponentially more animated - for five days before Steve can bring himself to reach out to his teammates and only then it's because Bucky's body simply cannot handle the shakes. He needs that solution, has had nothing else for too long.

Whatever happens, no one is going to take Bucky from him again - not ever.

"I'm calling someone who can help us." Bucky pulls himself out of his half-stupor - lulled by the quiet and the touch and the days of inaction - but does not move from his position against Steve's chest. They are sitting on the blankets; Steve is in the corner, Bucky in between his legs so he can defend his mission if someone shows up unannounced. They are naked and Bucky is a boneless pile of flesh and metal against him. If Steve was expecting a protest, he would have been disappointed, as Bucky simply reaches over to the backpack and hands him the tracphone before resettling against Steve's torso.

Good thing he has an eidetic memory or this call would be a problem. There is rock music, not a standard ring, and Steve rolls his eyes. It's a private Avengers' number, all calls should be answered no matter the displayed number. The line answers and no one speaks on the other end, per protocol.

"Stark?"

"Cap? Where the hell have you been? The media is all over you!"

"I needed some time away."

"Well, you picked a crap time. The people want answers about the file dump and-"

"File dump?"

"You don't know about that? Where are you? Bumfuck, Nowhere?"

Steve is silent. Stark sighs.

"Of course you are. Long story short: Rushm- Romanoff dumped all of HYDRA's and SHIELD's files onto the internet, which caused a major shitstorm. There are riots all over. You are off the Most Wanted list for the moment. People want to know what happened to you. There's security footage of you and the guy with the arm falling into the Potomac, but there wasn't any proof of survival and no one has found either body. Uh, about the guy . . . His files were leaked too; his name is never written down, but I recognised him from my dad's old photos. I, uh, assume you know who he was?"

Bucky's files. Steve doesn't know if he wants to see them. He's quiet when he answers. "Yeah."

They are both at a loss for a moment. "Stark? I need a favor."

"Never thought I'd see the day. Lay it on me."

"My files are probably out there too. I need you to recreate the formula they gave to me after they unfroze me. Make a lot of it. Bring an IV drip with you and bring it all to me. Can you trace this number?"

"I already have. And I found the "Super Soldier Nutrition Solution" here in your file. I can make it, not a probl-Fuck Cap, how did you even live to long enough to become a lab rat?"

Steve swallows. "I had a good friend." Bucky shifts against his chest, burrows closer in response to Steve's distress. "I, uh, Stark?"

"Yeah?"

"Can you remotely scan an enhanced body with metal inserts for chemical or neural stimulators?"

Stark doesn't say anything, quickly piecing it all together.

"Don't get found. I'll be there in 16 hours."

The line disconnects.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

Tony saunters through the door of the abandoned building in the middle of nowhere and almost jumps out of his skin. He doesn't literally, because how gross would that be? But, seriously, a guy enters a room and he's suddenly held two feet above the floor by a metal fist. Which, side note, looks like a fucking awesome piece of robotics work. When he can finally stop having a mini-orgasm over the thought of being able to scan and touch the arm that is currently choking him, he looks into the face of a highly traumatized soldier and it dampens his enthusiasm slightly. He remembers having eyes like that.

Rogers finally shows up and makes himself useful. "Buck, drop him. Stark is not a threat." Tony is surprised; he expected Capsicle to be gentle and cajoling with his victimized, brainwashed, and hey, highly volatile best friend, but he's barking out orders. The tone isn't even the one he uses with the Avengers; it's almost harsh. Tony almost want to call him out on it, but breathing is an issue at the moment.

Or it was. He's dropped immediately to the floor. Tony sucks is a breath. "Nice to meet you too."

He gets a blank look from the nightmare in combat boots and . . . sweatpants?

"Thanks for coming, Stark," Rogers speaks up and Tony can't even be bothered to look away from the man and arm in front of him. He waves Rogers away with a, "Couldn't resist."

He doesn't even know if Rogers has seen the kill list his buddy has built up, doesn't know if Rogers understands just what it's costing Tony to be here. But he is glad he came, now that he can see the mess of a human being that arranged his parents' accident. Glad he pushed his anger aside as he feels it evaporate entirely. Tony holds up his hands and tries to look at ice-shard eyes, but Barnes stares slightly to the left of actual eye contact.

"Steve called me to check your arm. I am going to start with a scan; the scan will not modify your arm and I'm not gonna touch it yet. I am reaching down to get my phone out of my pocket, okay?" Tony doesn't move until Barnes nods slightly. He sees some of the tension leave taught shoulders and he's glad he did for Barnes what he wishes people did for him when he came back from Afghanistan. He pulls out his (highly advanced) Starkphone, starts Jarvis remotely, and mutes him.

"I'm going to need you to hold your arm out. You want to sit or stay standing?"

"Stand." And, ouch, that voice hurts just listening to; he can't imagine what it must be like to speak. Well, yeah, he can; he's a genius and he's screamed his vocal cords raw too. Tony nods and that gorgeous metal arm is held parallel to the floor.

He walks closer and scans the arm from all angles and scans the shoulder, spine, collarbone, ribs, brain and let's just do the whole body for good measure, even though he isn't expecting Hydra to have cared much about the actual body mechanics and reinforcement needed for an arm of this weight. He looks down at his phone and is . . . dumbfounded. He checks again - every scan points to the same thing. Finally he decides he needs J talking at him. But first . . .

"Hey, Barnes," sharp eyes cut him apart, "I'm going to unmute my phone and a computer program is going to speak. I just have to verify these scans. You gonna be good?" Cap draws closer and his face is tight and despairing - much more how he thought Cap would look - but, if Barnes would move a single facial feature, Tony thinks he'd be rolling his eyes.

"J, am I seeing this right?"

"If you are referring to the metallically reinforced skeletal structure and the high-quality, high-functioning mechanisms of the robotics in the arm itself, then yes, sir, you are."

"Damn."

Whatever was holding Cap back has obviously expired. "What? What's wrong? Is it hurting him? Can we-"

"Easy, Cap. That's just the thing. There's nothing wrong. This is exactly what I would have done, if I was going to make a super-scary, super-strong, freezable assassin that needed a prosthetic." Tony huffs and crosses his arms. "They reinforced his ribs, collarbone, scapula, and spine with adamantium and attached the arm properly, no bolts through the bones, no hooks or anything. The arm itself is a work of art. Adamantium infused with vibranium, which I have no idea how they got their hands on, perfect structure, perfect balance, perfect design. Individually removable and replaceable plates, internal cooling, no stripped gears, no rust, no water damage, can't be magnetized, absolutely fantastic neural connection - which frankly astounds me. I can see where Barnes pulled out the trackers, but he was smart about it; didn't damage anything else. There aren't any chemical release packets anywhere in his body or the arm." He glances at Barnes. "I didn't think HYDRA would put too much care into the body attached to the arm, but someone obviously took pride in their work, which I can totally get behind, but ya know, torture."

"The Russians were better," Barnes growls, snorts, huffs? Either way, he's derisive. But yeah, Russians during the Cold War, that would explain it. Barnes has had this arm for a long time, which is frankly even more astounding.

"Right well, the only thing I could improve on this baby would be the weight - maybe. But, unless you want it taken off completely," Barnes shakes his head decisively, "I'd just leave it as it is. It isn't hurting him and, despite the scar tissue where they seared the metal on, which just ouch, his body has received it well and fully integrated it."

Barnes turns his head to Cap, still keeping Tony in his periphery, and full out smirks. Okay, okay, he tilts one corner of his mouth up the teeny-tiniest bit and radiates smug superiority. For Barnes, it's a smirk and a rude comment and it's by far the most emotion he's shown since Tony arrived.

Tony sighs and asks Barnes, "You already knew all this didn't you?"

That mouth twitches just the smallest bit higher. Tony rolls his eyes over to Cap, "Really? What am I even here for?"

"Now we know for sure."

Tony turns his head back to Robocop and hold his hands out in front of him, what's with this guy?. Barnes rotates back to him and tilts his head, just humor him. "I told him the Russians were better."

Tony thinks back to the files dumped on the internet and the decades of awfulness and the difference between the reports written in Cyrillic - yes, he knows Russian; he's a genius, remember? - and the reports that use the Latin alphabet. The wiping, programming, and conditioning, the training, missions, and torture, the freezing, thawing, and nutrition, those were easily found in both, but the undercurrent of sexual abuse, well, that was only found in one language. The fact is that the Russians, as awful as they were, took better care of the body and the mind housed in their perfect little soldier, even if it was only for their own benefit. HYDRA was careless and cruel where the Russians were focused and demanding. Tony thinks that, for a weapon, that might make all the difference.

"Yeah, buddy, the Russians were better."

Barnes' head snaps to him, actually looks him in the eye. What Tony sees there wrenches his arc reactor out of his chest before he remember that he doesn't have the arc reactor nestled in his sternum anymore. So he says it again.

"The Russians were better."

If he thought Barnes had relaxed before, he practically melts now. In the corner of his eye, he can see Rogers has a clenched jaw and murder in his eyes; he's practically vibrating with rage and doesn't try to reach out to Barnes, but he does say, "If either of you need anything - Cap, you listening? - anything, you call me. The food's in the trunk. There's 2,000 calories in every six ounces; he can drink it or put it straight into the bloodstream." He hands a new phone and a card linked to a ghost account fed by Stark funds and the keys to the nondescript (very modified) car he drove here to Rogers, who has pulled himself together. "It's untraceable and virtually unbreakable. You ever need me, you call. Understand?"

Barnes nods, just a dip of the head, and Rogers chokes out a "Thank you, Tony."

He turns to leave, to get back before anyone takes notice of his absence.

"Stark." It's a gravelly voice that sounds like the throat has been torn apart and not sewn back together. He turns back around. "Thank you." He even gets a sad smile. Well, the mouth doesn't move, but the blue eyes are warm and Tony counts it as a win.

"Anytime, Barnes." And what's more, he means it. Tony saunters back to the suit he left beside the car and cranks his music all the way back to the tower while going over the scans of the arm with Jarvis; one channel of his busy mind starts working on contingency plans for when Barnes and Rogers come back into the public eye.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

The heat is blistering and Steve is stripped down to his shorts. He sits on the couch, drawing the way the the humidity makes Mrs. Dresnk's hair frizz while she argues with her daughter. The door opens and a cocky smirk and polished shoes waltz into their apartment. "Heya, Stevie. Gotcha somethin'."

Steve raises an eyebrow. Rent is due soon. Bucky grins and pulls a book from behind his back. It's thick; the cover is a little beat up, but the pages are clean. They are fairy tales. It must have cost more than a pretty penny, but it'll be worth every cent. Steve smirks.

"Whatcha really mean is you got you somethin' and you want me to do the voices."

"Shuddup, Steve. Siddown and read me the damned book."

His smirk becomes something softer and he knows he'd give himself away if anyone was there to see. Buck pulls off his jacket, tie, and shirt before snuggling up to Steve, despite the heat, and pouting at him until Steve puts his pencils down and opens the book.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

Twenty-nine more days pass before Steve is pulled out of his own personal heaven. Bucky fluctuates between a lethal weapon and a clingy child, but both want Steve near at all times. They only leave the warehouse to get more food. Steve doesn't mind. Bucky doesn't speak much, but he loves to listen to the stories Steve tells, all but crawls into his lap and avidly gives his attention. Steve doesn't tell Bucky about himself or stories that involve both of them, doesn't know what it might do to his mind, doesn't want to trigger anything that will hurt Bucky. He hasn't remembered anything on his own, but it's okay because Bucky is still Bucky and Steve is still Steve and Bucky is here even without his memories he still is with Steve choses Steve, still wants to be Steve's, and Steve's chest cannot expand. Deep breath. Release.

Sometimes they sit cuddled in the corner - one speaking, one listening. Sometimes they spar on the empty warehouse floor to burn off energy. They never dress unless they're slipping out for food or that one time Stark showed up. Bucky does not leave his Asset and It mindset behind, but he warms up to Steve, his way of expressing himself blossoming under the constant touch and full stomach - well, full bloodstream - and Steve talking to him like a human, not an program.

He doesn't pay attention to what's happening in D.C. or anywhere else; he doesn't care. They'll have to leave this safe haven soon, but not yet. Then Stark calls.

"You need to listen and not hang up on me."

Well, that's a comforting greeting. He puts the cell on speakerphone.

"You know how to make this louder so Barnes can hear too or do you need me to walk you through it?"

Stark is smart; Steve's glad he's helping them. At least, he hopes Stark's still helping them.

"Already done. Why did you call?"

Warm up, Rogers. He's trying to help; don't take his head off.

"The Senate has issued a subpoena for you and an arrest warrant is out for Barnes, well for the Winter Soldier." Steve has to put the phone on the ground so he doesn't crush it. "I don't know how many people have put it together, but the Winter Soldier's identity is not common knowledge. My sources tell me when they get Barnes into custody, he'll be given a hearing in front of a Senate subcommittee, all hand selected ones that want to give him the death penalty." His heart is perfect; it's impossible for it to give out. "Not to worry; I started contingency plans as soon as I left you. This trial is going to be a farce, but it does need to happen."

Wait? What?

"Why? I could just take Bucky and leave. We'll never be found and-"

"And you'll be hunted publically by the United States government for the rest of your lives and the populace will get behind it because you didn't defend yourself; you just disappeared. This way you can show you were willing to work with the asshats on the Hill and say what you need to say."

Steve cannot speak, cannot get air. Bucky will be away from him again. He's 5'4" and he cannot defend Bucky. Weak. Useless.

Bucky is wrapped around him, petting Steve's head the way Steve pets his. Stark's voice is slightly frantic through the speakers; he must have been trying to get his attention while Steve faded from reality. "Cap? Cap!"

Steve is sucking in oxygen, would be wheezing if he wasn't so awfully healthy. Bucky answers instead. "Speak, Stark."

Stark is frenetic and solemn "I swear, Cap, he won't be taken from you, but this part has to happen."

Steve controls his breathing for a full minute before looking at Bucky, who stares back with such trust, with such obedience. He manages to say it fairly steadily. "What's your plan?"

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

Steve walks through the doors of the subcommittee room, dressed in a suit and cleaned up nicely. All cameras swing to him.

Senator Frey is the one who finally addresses him. "Captain Rogers."

"Senator. I apologize for my tardiness; I needed some time to recover and then felt some personal time was in order to get my head wrapped around the situation."

"That is understandable; however, we were unable to reach you and have needed you here to assist in the clearing up of the catastrophe that was Washington D.C."

Steve takes a seat at the table in front subcommittee; he can feel the cameras on him, recording his words, maybe airing him live.

"Again, I do apologize. I was in a remote location and did not have access to current news reports. I am here now. How may I help?"

The committee goes on for some time. They don't ask him anything about Bucky, only the Winter Soldier. They try to pin it all on the "agent with the metal arm." Steve contains his anger with a USO smile.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

Four days later the Winter Soldier turns himself in.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

Jason was just doing his job, his normal, boring job. Suddenly, the doors slide open and a slew of reporters cram themselves through, but all stay together, far away from the central figure. That figure is what has Jason freezing at his desk. The Winter Soldier stalks up to him. Every agent in the room has a gun pointed at him, would have probably shot him already, but for the gaggle of reporters that would have it recorded.

The assassin is clearly not here to shoot them, which doesn't mean he won't kill them all. The Winter Soldier is in sweatpants and combat boots, no shirt at all. His muscular torso and hideously scarred shoulder are on display, but it does make it obvious that he is unarmoured and not concealing weapons. Not that he would need them.

The voice is guttural and hoarse, unused and not quite right. "It submits for a trial." Damn it, damn it, damn it. It was recorded. Damn! They really cannot afford anymore bad publicity. The guns are still trained on him, but the Winter Soldier simply stands there with a granite face and statuesque posture.

Four agents approach, guns raised. The Soldier does not move a muscle. The cameras are still rolling. Jason picks up the phone and puts a call through to the Director, who is down not two minutes later. Heavily armored agents and massive restraints are with him. The agents rush forward before checking themselves for the cameras. Two approach him cautiously with the cuffs. The Soldier looks through them, but holds both arms in front of him without protest. The cuffs are slapped on quickly and the Winter Soldier is walked off, cameras snapping behind him.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Doctor Haley Frunston did not sign up for this. There is a world-known assassin sitting quietly on a medical table in FBI headquarters. They brought her in because she's the best and she freelances for them sometimes. She was expecting a hardened criminal, just like they usually call her in to deal with. The Winter Soldier hides it well, but the moment he was walked in, half-naked, restrained, and surrounded by armed men, and saw the table, his heart-rate spiked and his adrenaline started to flow. She knows because she has state of the art equipment, including a medical AI. From looking at him, you would never know he's terrified. It makes her uncomfortable.

That was before she saw his files. Now his unreadability makes her sick. This man does not even have a name. Before she even can bring herself to look at the Director of the FBI, she gently approaches the traumatized man, victim sitting on her table. She comes at an angle and holds herself sideways. Her voice is soft, but she does not reach for him.

"You don't have to sit there. You can stand against the wall, if it makes you more comfortable."

He looks slightly to the left of her eyes. When he speaks, she wants to cry, but instead allows it to become righteous fury.

"Repeat order."

"You can stand; you don't have to sit there."

He slides off the medical bench with a fluid grace, stands silently and does not move again. Haley takes a deep breath before rounding on the Director and the heavily armed guards. She knows she's a small woman, but they did not choose her to work with some of their most difficult criminals because of her size.

She is practically hissing at the Director of the FBI, but she doesn't work for him and this is torture. "You want me to do what?"

He seems taken aback by her anger. "Remove his arm. We have an operating theater ready for you. It's a weapon and cannot be allowed to remain attached."

"Have you even looked at his file?"

His expression does not change at all. "Yes. The arm still must be removed."

"That arm is melted into his bones; it is part of his spine. I will not remove it; any medical personnel with an ounce of legality would not remove it. If you've seen his file, then, you will know that he doesn't need to arm to be dangerous." She is spitting mad, but she doesn't allow herself to yell. "This is torture and if you think I will allow you to do that to a man who is clearly traumatized, think again."

The Director's jaw is clenched, but he remains polite. "Thank you for your help, Doctor. You are free to go."

Haley is not an idiot. "Director, with all due respect, I cannot leave him. I have taken this patient under my care and it is my legal responsibility for me to allow no harm to come to him. Surely you can understand legal responsibility and what a mess it would be if the media got a hold of a testimony stating you torture those who have turned themselves in, particularly after what happened at the Triskelion."

The Director glares and the men shift their weapons; she speaks again. "MAVIS, contact Doctors Jones, Stewart, Fresly, Young, and Telsman. Scan them each a copy of the Winter Soldier's medical record. Tell them that I am remaining with the patient and that, unless I contact them within 48 hours, they should release to the public that the FBI wished me to remove the patient's metal prosthetic."

"Directives accomplished, Doctor Frunston."

The Director's mouth is tight. "Very well, Doctor. The Soldier may keep his arm." He turns to one of the men on his right. "We will need another method of containment. The reinforced cell will not be enough to hold him, if he tries to escape."

The room is silent for a moment before the agent speaks. "Captain Rogers returned to D.C. a few days ago. He fought the Soldier twice and he says he's willing to do whatever he can to help. He would be able to contain him until the military hearing."

"It won't be a military hearing."

"Sir?"

"It will be a public trial."

Haley's stomach drops.

"Very well. I'll give the Captain a call; see if he'll help."

Haley doubts it, since the FBI had him on their Most Wanted list not six weeks ago, but her patient's heart rate slows and his adrenaline stops being released.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Stark looks at him as they watch Bucky through the cameras Stark hacked into. "Told you Frunston wouldn't let anything happen to him."

Maybe not, but the government would have done it, even after knowing what was in his file. The metal chair bends under his fingers.

"On to phase two."

He has just enough time to force himself to calm down before the Director of the FBI gives him a call.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

BREAKING NEWS: WINTER SOLDIER TURNS HIMSELF IN

kelsyrt5 Did you see the news? The Winter Soldier walked right into the FBI headquarters in broad daylight

SHIRTLESS ASSASSIN ALLOWS ARREST

Did u see his scars? That musta hurt #WS

CAPTAIN AMERICA CALLED IN FOR WINTER SOLDIER CONTAINMENT

Fred Strunk Cap's involvement makes me feel more secure

cupcakequeen Cap won't let him get away #wintersoldier

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

The men in placed in charge of Winter Soldier containment are some of the most highly trained individuals the FBI has to offer. If the guards in the control room for the reinforced cell holding the Winter Soldier were expecting Captain Rogers to be angry with the prisoner, they were highly disappointed. The Captain went through security and they opened the heavily locked cell door. The Captain walks over the threshold, carrying a large crate full of what looks like IV bags on one shoulder. The prisoner is standing, unmoving, in the center of the room, restraints in place.

The Captain's voice is hard. "I'm here now. Uncuff him."

That is not what they were expecting, but it also isn't standard practice to restrain contained prisoners. The shift leader puts in a call to his superiors who okay the request. Captain Rogers' face gets harder the longer he waits. The moment the cuffs are off, the Captain escorts them out and shuts the door, as if he is locking the others out instead of locking himself in. The guards retreat to the control room in time to see the Captain strip down to his skivvies. They are so shocked that they don't move for two whole seconds. By that time, the prisoner has stripped completely. They talk quickly to each other in a controlled panic.

"What is going on here?"

The Captain pulls the blankets off the little cot.

"Not sure, sir. Do we knock them out?"

The prisoner puts them down in the corner farthest from the door.

"We don't know if the gas will even work. Ready it, but hold on."

Captain Rogers sits in the corner and the prisoner settles stiffly between his legs. The men stare at each other, wide-eyed. The Captain starts talking quietly, relaying the storyline of Aladdin, while he rubs his hands down the Soldier's arms. Within twenty minutes, the world's most wanted assassin is resting his entire weight against America's paragon of justice and virtue, naked and unselfconscious. The shift leader makes a call to security.

"Was Captain Rogers searched for chemical relaxants?"

"Yes, sir. He's clean. The only thing he brought with him was the crate of nutritional supplement he said he needed for the super soldier metabolism, which was looked over by our chemists and approved for consumption."

They all sit and watch the two men in the cell snuggle with fascination.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

When an agent brings two plates of breakfast and slides it through the slot at the bottom of steel door, Captain Rogers finally moves from the corner. He grabs both plates and a bag of fluid from the crate. He sits by the prisoner who curls into the Captain's body like he's a magnet.

"They wouldn't let me bring a needle. You'll have to drink it. Slowly."

The agents look on in confusion as the prisoner, without question or hesitation, takes small sips of the liquid. The piece click into place. The Soldier is enhanced. They haven't seen his file, but maybe they should go scrounge it up from the millions of files that were dumped online. One man, Samels, does an internet search right then and there. They read the file as the Captain eats both plates of food and the prisoner sips at the IV bag. They have all seen many sick things, but this… It's disgusting.

"Why is this man here instead of in a psych ward? This. . . there's no way he should be alive right now."

They are quiet, looking through some of the photos in the file; the Captain and the Soldier resume their previous position.

"That's James Barnes."

All heads snap to Samels; he looks green, points at one of the earliest photos. "The Winter Soldier is James Barnes."

They study the men in the cell. They don't speak for the rest of the day.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

The asset likes - the asset is not allowed to like - likes the tiny room. It can see every corner and there is only one entrance. It and the mission are locked in together, behind walls that a human would not be able to break and a highly secured door that the asset knows seventeen ways to open without analyzing more than seventeen seconds. There are four valves for gas release, one half-meter square grate for water flow, one steel toilet, one small steel cot, two blankets, and eight cameras. All can be used as weapons or to feed misinformation to their watchers, but for now the asset feels safe.

There is a schedule, dependability. They sleep at the same time every day, ingest nutrition at the same time, spar at the same time, bathe at the same time, listen to stories at the same time everyday. The asset appreciates it, the stability. The mission is always available to the touch, is as naked as the asset, puts himself on the same level of vulnerability as it. No handler has ever done that before. The asset revels - the asset is not allowed to rev- revels in it, soaks up the contact the mission offers freely, does not demand payment or take his pleasure or hand out pain. The asset curls up to and on top of the mission, reminds itself of a . . . girl it once . . . loved? Was there a girl? Red and green and pale? The asset cannot remember.

The asset hears footsteps approaching the door, uncurls itself, and crouches in front of the mission. The airlocks release and a uniformed agent stands just one the other side of the room, the little sanctuary for the asset and the mission. It waits for orders, is ready to snap the agent's neck at the slightest signal.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

From the control room, they watch James Barnes shift from a cuddly pile of goop to a blank-faced killer in 0.62 seconds. They prepare the gas.

The Captain does not say anything, just stands silently behind his. . . friend? On the screen, Samels says, "We've, uh, we've heard you telling him stories for the last few days, so, um, I brought you a fairy tale book."

Samels takes a step forward and Barnes shifts. "Stand down, Buck," Captain Rogers snaps and Barnes immediately uncrouches, standing tall and deadly. Samels puts the book on the floor and slides it across the cell.

"Thank you. What's your name, son?" Rogers looks Samels in the eye, disregarding his own nude state.

"Samels. Eric Samels."

"Thank you, Eric. I'm sure we'll enjoy it."

Samels nods and closes the door. Rogers and Barnes settle down and read the book out loud the whole way through.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

This is not a fight; it is a beating and Steve was asking for it, wanted it. It hurts like hell, but it is worth it because it proves that these men would rather pound him to a bloody pulp than fuck him into the cement.

He is on the ground getting the shit kicked out of him by two guys when Bucky arrives like a gale force wind, blank-faced rage and efficient movements. When Bucky is done, Steve cannot tell if the men are dead or just unconscious; Bucky doesn't seem to care. His ice-blue glare cuts Steve apart, but the frozen mask - the one Bucky has started wearing when he is angry after the day Steve crumbled into his chest five months ago - does not shift a tick.

Buck grabs him by his upper arm and stalks off, dragging Steve behind him the entire seven blocks back to their apartment. When they enter the room, Buck deposits Steve on the couch - gently for all his frustration - and goes to wet a cloth. He starts cleaning the blood off Steve's face and Steve knows better than to talk to him right now. He's never been big on self-preservation.

"Buck, I-"

"Shut up or I might kill you myself."

They are silent for a long time while Bucky cools down and Steve wraps his self-righteousness around him like a shield.

"Steve. Why did Liz Coston have to come running to the docks yelling my name? Why did she have to tell me that you prodded those two micks until they started swinging?" Bucky's voice is getting progressively louder until he is yelling. "Why did she have to start crying because she thought they were going to beat you to death? Why did she have to do that, Steve?"

"Buc-"

"Don't speak! You don't get to speak!" Buck clenches his jaw, reigns in his volume, and Steve can hear the quiver now. "I know it's been hard, Stevie, but ya can't keep doing this. I can't keep doing this. I can't leave in the morning wonderin' who ya're goin' to piss into hittin' ya, if I'll find ya lying in a gutter on my way home, wonderin' who's kickin' your teeth in all day.

"Ya don' hafta prove anything, Stevie.

"Please stop."

And Bucky is crying and Steve has never felt more like a failure.

Steve doesn't go looking for beatings after that.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

WINTER SOLDIER TRIAL IN 57 DAYS

brendastutu I found a translation of the Winter Soldier's files. It made me puke. How can they put him on trial? #wintersoldier #accquithim

Jake Trule I hope they put that bastard so far away he never sees the sun again

WINTER SOLDIER KILL LIST OVER 65 YEARS

look at the length, all those leaders dead, all the people trying to make the world a better place

ChefChris No way the Senate lets him off with that kind of record, no matter what was done to him #wintersoldier #senatetrial

WINTER SOLDIER IDENTITY REVEALED

JAMES BUCHANAN "BUCKY" BARNES IS WINTER SOLDIER

CAPTAIN AMERICA IS MAKING SURE HIS BEST FRIEND STAYS IN PRISON

sarah367 poor cap! do you think he knew when they were fighting? #buckybarnes #wintersoldier

jonsey-p It doesn't matter who he used to be or whose best friend he was or is, the Winter Soldier killed dozens of high profile targets and must be held accountable.

WINTER SOLDIER TRIAL OPEN TO THE PUBLIC

WINTER SOLDIER TRIAL IN FOUR DAYS

Jess Trinker Despite all the publicity and Stark and Cap backing Barnes' innocence, I doubt he will be acquitted or found innocent. There's just too much blood on his hands.

threeblindeyes They're just going to completely ignore the fact that he was brutalized, tortured, and mind wiped for decades. This man does not deserve our hate; he deserves our support. Right now the Senate is trying to pin all of HYDRA's actions on one prisoner of war. Have you not seen his files? He was not consenting. #acquithim #buckybarnes #wintersoldier #hesinnocent

i just don't feel safe with him around. #WS

Put him down. Death penalty. It's what he deserves.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

While most of the time the men in the cell sit and read through the growing number of books Samels brings for them, the rest of their interactions are equally fascinating. The Captain and the prisoner have been in the little cell for 63 days. Barnes rarely talks, but Rogers doesn't seem to mind. They take shifts sleeping; Rogers sleeps for about four hours a night, Barnes is out for two exactly ninety-minute cycles. They are never unconscious at the same time, as if they are afraid someone will attempt to attack them. It is not an unfounded fear. The men have kept their eyes and ears pealed, are protecting their charge as much as they are containing him. Sometime during the two months of watching, the prisoner has slipped under their skin, made them oddly protective. He does not deserve to be here. They are fairly positive Rogers will not allow him to return.

Samels brings news clippings of anything related to the trial, the Soldier, or the Captain. The Captain does not even blink at the bile that is being spewed all over his name, does not seem to deem it important at all. Instead, he talks to Barnes over breakfast and IV bags. He never tells stories about their shared past; they cannot tell if the prisoner remembers or not.

Every morning before breakfast, they exercise individually but simultaneously for two hours. Some of the things Barnes can do with his body puts them in awe. At exactly 1300, Barnes gets up and Rogers follows. They spar together for three hours, sometimes longer if the papers brought bad news about the trial or public opinion of Barnes, if Rogers needs to burn off the anger he will not put on his face. There is no doubt in the minds of the agents that the men in the cell are there because they want to be there. There is no way that cell could possibly restrict them if they wanted out.

They rinse off together under the water from the grate in the ceiling, then air dry as they go through one of the books. They haven't gotten dressed the whole time they've been here, haven't jerked off, or even been aroused once that the agents have noticed. They thought surely Rogers at least would have a serum-powered sex drive, but there is nothing.

Anytime they aren't exercising, sleeping, or eating, they are curled together on the floor reading a story. It is heartwarming and sad. But these men are professionals so they push it aside.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Loving Bucky is not easy, is not simple, or straightforward. It is tricky, must be hidden, kept a secret between them. Bucky keeps them safe, goes out with girls, has a reputation. Steve does not mind, is fully aware that he is the one Bucky wants, is not jealous of Bucky's women, even when he takes them to bed.

Steve loves Bucky, but he does not want him, does not desire him in the way men desire women or men desire other men. He thinks it is because of his heart, maybe, or his lungs. There is something wrong with him; there are many things wrong with him. What is one more item to add to the list?

Bad heart

Bad lungs

Bad blood

Bad eyes

Bad ears

Bad back

Bad drive

Bad love- no!

Loving Bucky is not bad; something so precious and sacred cannot be wrong, but it is. They are both wrong, both sick. Steve doesn't care. Bucky is Steve's and Steve is Bucky's, no matter who else Buck takes to the dance halls.

Buck leans over the back of the couch to kiss the top of his head on his way to the docks.

"See ya for dinner, punk."

Steve is pulled out of his musings. "Buck?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you think you'll ever get better? Find some dame, fall in love?"

Bucky turns to him, looks him straight in the eye. "No. And if they offered me a cure, I wouldn't take it."

Steve is frustrated. "But you could do so much better than this. You deserve better than this."

Bucky juts out his jaw, stubborn. "I don't give a damn about what I deserve. I want you. You hear me, Steve? I choose you; I will always choose you."

Steve drops his eyes, does not cheapen Bucky's love with his own inadequacies.

Bucky gentles his tone. "It's just a piece of paper, Steve. I'm as married as I'm ever gonna be."

"Even if this is all we ever have?" Bucky taking out dames, always hiding, jerking off alone because he does not want others and Steve does not want him.

Buck takes Steve's jaw in hand, forces him to look him in the eye. "Even if this is all we ever have, Steve." He kisses his forehead again before leaving for the docks.

"What happened to you, Steve?"

They are sitting against a tree in the dark seven miles from the HYDRA base, surrounded by Allied soldiers who are resting, eating, talking, keeping watch. Bucky is pressed fully against his side, leaning on him. Steve takes a deep breath, knows he's going to get chewed out for his actions.

"There was this man, Erskine; he had an experiment." Bucky stiffens and Steve rushes to get the rest of his words out. "I volunteered for it and it fixed my eyes, my lungs. I'm better now, healthy."

Steve can feel Bucky withdraw from him, physically, emotionally. That is not what Steve wanted. Steve wanted him to get angry, to get pissed, to rip him apart with his ire, not this retreating shell of the man he loves, torn into pieces and shaken out, emptied and hollow and dying. Steve wants to pick up the pieces James Barnes has become and put them inside himself, to keep them safe in his new, indestructible body.

"That's great, Steve. I'm really happy for you."

And what's worse is Steve knows Bucky means it, is pleased that Steve can breathe, is strong, can fall in love with a woman and be right. It makes Steve wish Bucky would be selfish, just once. He is protective and possessive and will kill a man for Steve without a second glance, but the moment Steve wants to walk away, he lets him. Steve wishes Bucky would be selfish, just once.

"The serum didn't fix everything, Buck. It took whatever was inside and made it more; it didn't make me right, just made me bigger." Icy eyes pierce him in the chest. "It's still you and me, pal."

Bucky leans back into his shoulder. With his new senses, Steve can feel the tremors wrack through Bucky's body for the whole night.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

It is 2014. Natasha is twenty-nine years old. 1968 sits in her head, surrounded in mirrors, being reflected everywhere she looks.

She calls Stark from her secure line once she puts the final cache in place. "Last one finished. Did the paperwork go through?"

"What do you take me for? Of course it did. Every single one of them was happy to help."

"Happy to help, I-threw-money-at-them-until-they-were-happy-to-help or we-believe-in-basic-human-decency-happy-to-help?"

"Send-them-here-if-they-need-a-safe-place-the-US-government-is-making-a-mess-of-this-trial-happy-to-help. I didn't even need to ask for some of them. They've all been following closely and were outraged by the way it's being handled. Not a single one asked to see his files; they'd all seen them already and come to a verdict. One said they were gonna contact me if I didn't reach out before Thursday."

Natasha blinks. She didn't expect that. "So who has the papers?"

"Each is going to file them as soon as the trial begins. Our boys won't need to have them. Better if they don't, actually."

"I'm staying over here, Stark. Send them to me when it goes pear-shaped."

"I will roger that."

Natasha hangs up.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Little girls are dangerous. That is what Natalia knows. But they can be made more dangerous still.

It is 1968 and Natalia does not know her age. The injections they gave her in 1960 made her grow funny. She should be eleven now, but she isn't, does not fit the biology. She looks seven, so she says she's seven.

Seven-year-old Romanova, with flame-red hair and cat-green eyes, is selected for a higher form of training along with nine others in the Widow program. Natalia is the youngest, will be the best. The Mistress tells her the dog is coming to train them. She tries to piece it together. Maybe "Dog" is a codename, but the Mistress did not speak about the trainer as if it were a human. Perhaps it is just a highly intelligent canine. Natalia doubts it.

When Natalia first meets the dog, he is hunting her. It is an exercise: escaping an unknown, an unknown who is better than her. Natalia is the last one he finds. The second time Natalia meets the dog, he refines her hand-to-hand and knocks her unconcious. The third time Natalia meets the dog, he works with her on her aerial stunts before they fight; he breaks her arm. She does not cry, keeps fighting. She catches him off-guard, kicks him in the knee hard enough to break it if he were a normal human. That is when she learns he isn't.

The dog doesn't grin at her attack, but his eyes flame with warmth. She wonders absently why seeing someone who is beaten and broken and defeated on the ground but refuses to sit there and take it - to roll over and give up - makes him happy. She does not think it is because he is sadistic. Natalia has fought sadistic men before and this dog does not even come close.

The first time the dog speaks, Natalia decides she likes him.

"Ваше имя, немного паук? (What is your name, little spider?)"

"Наталья Романова. (Natalia Romanova.)"

"Тише, Наташенька, это не повредит вам сейчас. (Hush, Natashenka, it will not hurt you now.)" Natalia believes him. He rubs her good shoulder and quickly sets the broken bone. Natalia's enhancements will heal it fully within two weeks; it will be functional for gentle use in 48 hours. "Вы очень храбрый. Вы напоминаете его кто-то, что используется для его люблю. (You are very brave. You remind it of someone who used to love it."

Before the dog's handlers take him away, Natalia asks what she should call him. "Актив. (Asset.)"

Natalia thinks about him for two days while her arm heals and decides to give him a name. A real name.

She is sent back to the dog three days later and they set to work on disappearing in plain sight. Only two other girls continue to work with him; they each get eight hours a day. Natalia wonders if the dog is ever allowed to sleep.

When the handlers are too far to hear, before he is taken away from her, she whispers to him,"Я собираюсь позвонить вам Яша. Потому что вы являетесь человеком, а не собака, и вы добры. (I am going to call you Yasha. Because you are a person and not a dog and you are kind.)"

She watches closely, takes in information like she was taught. Their dog, her Yasha, gets to sleep for five hours once every five days. The first time she sneaks her way into the little room where he falls unconscious, he has her in the air by her throat before he recognises her. He sets her down and rubs gently at her neck. She reaches up on her tiptoes to put her hands to his face; he all but collapses into her touch and his eyes smile at her. Yasha lies back down and she wriggles her way on top of him, curling up on his chest. The flesh arm cradles her close before Yasha goes back to sleep. Natalia is gone before the handlers come.

The dog, her Yasha continues to train her for ten more months. She is the best, just like she promised herself she would be. She is his favorite and it is going to get them in trouble; the dog is not supposed to have favorites. But Natalia is learning, is excelling under her Yasha and she overheard the handlers say this is the most complacent the dog has been in twenty-three years. Yasha must grow funny like her.

Every five days, while Yasha sleeps, Natalia crawls into his bed. He waits for her, knows she will come to him. His eyes are soft and warm and they twist Natalia's throat up.

Natalia is a shadow, flitting through the Red Room.

"Они собираются, чтобы собака продолжит маленькая девочка одержимость? Красный один делает вложение. (Are they going to let the dog continue its little girl obsession? The red one is making an attachment.)"

"Обучение за два месяца, то они буду вытирать. Пусть это делают свою маленькую подружку сейчас.(Training is over in two months, then they'll wipe it. Let it make its little friend for now.)"

The conversation makes Natalia shiver.

Yasha makes Natalia the best; no one will be able to beat her. Yasha has to try much harder to subdue her in fights now, even if he still wins. She can see the pride he has for her on his face. She does not know it is the last night she will crawl into Yasha's bed, but it is. Perhaps Yasha knows because he speaks as he clutches her to him and does not rest at all, holds her against him the entire five hours he is supposed to sleep.

"Знайте это, мало Наташенька: Ваш Яша так горжусь тобой; вы будете делать большие вещи в один прекрасный день. Яша любит вас, Наталья. (Know this, little Natashenka: your Yasha is so proud of you; you will do great things one day. Yasha loves you, Natalia.)"

When Natalia hears screaming in the ruined tone of Yasha's voice, she goes running. Yasha trained her to get into anywhere she wants to be and she wants to be in that room with her Yasha, wants to know what could cause the machine-like body of their dog to be in that much pain.

There is a chair. Natalia wishes she hadn't come.

When the handlers leave their dog, she crawls down from the ceiling straight into their dog's lap. He does not remember her, does not try to hurt her, just lets her sit in his lap and leans into the hands she rests on his shoulders.

She forces him to look into her eyes, wills her eyes to brand themselves into his skull. "Ваше имя Яша. И Наталья Романова любит вас. (Your name is Yasha. And Natalia Romanova loves you.)"

Forty-four years and twenty-two birthdays later, Natasha Romanoff will have a conversation within a conversation with a manic, desperate god running from a force that tore him apart and broke him down and she will say, "Love is for children," and she will think of a Russian dog with hard muscles and soft eyes, who she called Yasha, who taught her how to be the best, who was the one person she loved.

The part of the Widow that is young Natalia with flame-red hair and cat-green eyes will scream for Yasha, but Natasha with blood-red hair and many masks will not allow her eyes to water.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

The night before the trial, Samels delivers two suits and two sets of dress shoes to the men in the cell. There's a phone resting on the top.

"Stark sent these over."

Rogers silently takes the bundle, Barnes a menacing shadow behind him.

"Be ready to go by 0830. I- Good luck to you tomorrow." He tries to look Barnes in the face. "I hope it all works out for you."

Samels returns to the control room.

It's 0247 when the shaking starts, the only time Barnes has shown any real emotion at all. It is silent and dark, but the men are all watching anyway. Rogers is rocking Barnes slowly, making soft noises. It's the first time they hear Barnes speak in seventeen days.

"It cannot perform mission parameters, if the mission is separated from the asset."

Rogers whispers, "Shh, no one is taking you from me. Ever. I promise. You're mine; I won't let anyone take you from me."

The prisoner stops shaking while the men look at each other. They pretend they did not hear and do not notify their superiors.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

WINTER SOLDIER TRIAL BEGINS TODAY

Becky Are you watching it? Turn it on. It's starting. #WStrial

gecko34 i hope they decide quick. why is there even trial. #guilty

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

Captain America and the Winter Soldier enter the courtroom. Both are in blue suits and formal attire. Captain America takes a seat next to the defendant, face calm and placid. The Winter Soldier's arms are crossed in front of him in massive cuffs; he has perfect posture and absolutely no expression and watches the Captain with an unnerving intensity.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Steve is pissed, but he knew he would be, knew this trial would be a circus. Just another show. Well, this time he has some words of his own to say, off-script. The cameras zoom in on him and Bucky as soon as they're escorted into the room. Bucky does not bother with anything more than a cursory glance of the room, keeps his eyes on Steve. Despite the suit and shoes, Bucky is placed the cuffs the STRIKE team put on Steve after the bridge. Steve is not worried.

Public opinion of Bucky is split fairly evenly, but public opinion does not matter here. The verdict was made long ago; he can see it in their faces.

The prosecution calls up doctors, psychologists, mechanical technicians - none whom ever talked to Bucky in their lives - family members of victims. There are pictures, and speeches, and lists of all the good the targets were doing for the world. It is all very theatrical. The fact is the Senate members care more about the list of dead people than they do about the abused man who is still alive.

Despite Stark's lawyer calling into question the validity of the witnesses and making good points, it doesn't change the minds of the Senate at all. The jury's rigged and Steve knew it long ago. He tries to keep the anger off his face, out of his eyes. He sits next to Bucky as a containment measure. He wants to crush their skulls with his hands.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

The asset takes in all armed individuals - twelve open carry, thirty-six concealed, cameras - sixty-three, and exits - four doors, two windows, six air vents - as it enters the room, then it focuses on the mission. It does not waste any of its attention on the proceedings; the result will be HELD ACCOUNTABLE and the result is inconsequential. The asset is restrained in imposing cuffs. It wonders if the agents in the little monitor room were under the impression this could hold it. It doubts that. Perhaps this is their form of assistance.

The mission is enraged on behalf of the asset, attempts to present a neutral expression, is failing. Something warm crawls up its throat. The asset focuses on the mission, maybe to wait for orders, maybe to ignore the dead faces screaming in its head. The asset watches the mission.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

The prosecution, Jay Long on behalf of the United State of America, calls Captain Rogers to the stand. Captain Rogers swears in and takes his seat.

The prosecuting attorney begins the questioning. "Captain Rogers, how long have you known the Winter Soldier?"

A muscle in Steve Roger's cheek twitches. "Sergeant James Barnes."

"Excuse me?"

"The name of the man you are attempting to convict is James Buchanan Barnes; the Winter Soldier is a weapon. You might consider attempting to find the person responsible for wielding the weapon, instead of attaching the crimes to the weapon itself."

A Senate member cuts in, "Captain Rogers, the willingness of Sergeant Barnes is not in question. Please answer the question asked."

Captain Rogers clenches his fists.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Steve says the first thing that comes to mind.

"The willingness of James Barnes should be in question, but no one here seems to care about that at all. I didn't fight so that prisoners of war could come back to their countries to find their people wanting to see just how quickly they can lock them up again after this humiliating circus you deem a trial. This isn't justice; it's blame–shifting."

The Senate member cuts in once more, "Captain, if you cannot contain your outbursts, you will be held in the contempt of the court and ejected from the room until after a verdict is reached."

"The verdict has already been reached; it was reached before a single person set foot in this room. Where are the Hydra members you are going to put on trial?" Steve takes a breath. "That's right, you don't have any. Who is going to talk about the fact that Alexander Pierce, the US Secretary of Defense, was the leader of an international terror organization for decades? But you don't want to talk about that. Instead you want to sit here and decide whether the man who is arguably the most victimized," Steve glares at the prosecutor, "by Hydra should be punished for his own torture."

"Captain, I will have you thrown out of this courtroom."

"Try it, see how far you get."

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Tactical error. Poor defensive maneuver. The asset internally rolls his eyes. This is why its mission needs a weapon; he's too willing to fight, likes it too much.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

The Senator interjects, "Are you threatening the court, Captain Rogers?"

The courtroom is utterly silent, everyone waiting to hear the Captain's response. Steve Rogers turns his entire body and gazes at the defendant, who has been watching the Captain with an unnerving focus and absolutely no expression since the moment he walked through the door. The Soldier's countenance doesn't even flicker, but he gives one minute shake of his head. At that motion, Captain Rogers jaw clenches and his eyes visibly harden, as if he can read something in that movement that the rest of the court cannot.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

The asset shakes its head. The mission is behaving unwisely. A threat is a poor tactical decision. It will harm the mission's standing in society. Harm is unacceptable. The mission will be harming himself on behalf of his asset. Harm is unacceptable. The asset is not worth any harm to the mission.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Several moments have passed without a reply.

"Captain Rogers?"

The Captain's head turns sharply toward the man, who recoils slightly.

"Are you threatening the court, Captain Rogers?"

Something dark tugs at the corners of the Captain's mouth and his eyes are cold. He leans back in the witnesses' chair slightly.

"Not yet." The crowd sucks in a collective breath. "Allow me to ask you a question."

Captain Rogers does not appear to be addressing a particular person, but rather the room or perhaps the world as a whole.

"Do you really think you are capable of keeping him from me?"

The room bursts into pandemonium and Captain Rogers discreetly pushes three buttons on his phone.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

Internally, the asset trills in ecstasy. Nothing will keep the mission from his asset and nothing will keep the asset from its mission. The asset will kill anything that tries. But not yet, not yet, not until its mission gives the command.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

"Remove Captain Rogers from the room!"

Armed guards begin to move from their stations along the walls.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Or until its mission is in danger.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Before the sentries take three steps from their places, the Winter Soldier is in a defensive stance in front of the witness stand, titanium cuffs broken on the floor. His expression is one of calm, deadly rage and everyone but the guards freeze immediately.

It is only because the room is so quiet that everyone can hear the grating, gravelly voice snarl,  
"Mine." Even the soldiers stop moving after that.

One of the soldiers lifts his gun.

"Are you sure you want to do that, son?" It would sound like a concerned inquiry from a national hero but for the terrifying look on his face. "Are you sure that you can take one of us down before the other snaps your neck?"

He says it so lightly, like the concept doesn't bother him at all, and the gathered people just stare. Across the nation, these words ring out loud and clear from every television, computer, and tablet streaming the Winter Soldier trial live.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Tara HOLY FUCK! DID YOU JUST HEAR WHAT CAP JUST SAID?

ginieth43 omigod, i cant believe he jsut said that.

guysandgals turn it on NOW! #WS

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

The Winter Soldier remains coiled while Captain America walks around to the front of the witness stand and continues to speak.

"While I have your attention, allow me to make something clear. I have given my all for this country, more than once. Sergeant Barnes has given even more. We have not asked for praise, or recognition, or reward. We have placed this country above our health- mental, emotional, and physical. We have placed it above our identities and sense of self, above our autonomy, and free will. We have put this country above our future, our proper time to die, and our lives."

The entire nation was so silent one could hear a pin drop or, if one was listening closely, the high whine of arc reactor technology.

"Once before, we placed this country above each other. That will not happen again. We ask this now of you: do not come after us; if you do, we will kill you."

With that the doors to the courtroom break apart and the soldiers lift their guns and two suits of titanium alloy mold to the bodies of Steve Rogers and James Barnes. The soldiers fire their weapons, the suits take off with their packages - safe and secure - inside, and the country sits in shock.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

yuledays I think Cap just took the Winter Soldier and went AWOL. Is that what just happened?

Julia He just threatened the entire country for one man.

gigglesandfoam I knew that man didn't have our best interests at heart. #hunthimdown #stringhimup

CAPTAIN AMERICA AND WINTER SOLDIER FLEE TRIAL IN IRON MAN SUITS

TONY STARK SAYS "NO COMMENT"

OTHER AVENGERS UNAVAILABLE FOR COMMENT

gunsnsmoke just leave him alone. he hasn't asked us for anything ever. that trial was bullshit and we all know it. just let them be.

DESPITE DEFENDANT'S FLIGHT THE SENATE PASSES VERDICT: GUILTY

WINTER SOLDIER FOUND GUILTY ON ALL ACCOUNTS

DEATH WARRANT OUT FOR WINTER SOLDIER

WARRANT OF ARREST OUT FOR CAPTAIN AMERICA

jamie23 This is ridiculous

falsey About damn time.

WINTER SOLDIER: SHOOT ON SIGHT

OfficialSenate Shooting Barnes would be signing our own death warrants. Rogers isn't going to let him be taken from him; I think he made that very clear. Just leave them alone or give a fair trial. We all know the one he got was unjust, no matter the outcome.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

Stark's suits deposit the asset and the mission in Northern France. There is a red-headed woman waiting for them beside a sports car with bags of weaponry and supplies. The asset positions itself between the mission and the . . . spider. . . Little Spider.

"Natalia?" The mission jumps and Natashenka grins.

"Hello, Yasha."

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

THIRTY-FOUR COUNTRIES GRANT CAPTAIN AMERICA AND WINTER SOLDIER ASYLUM

346759k See, I am not the only one who thinks the US fucked up.

Trent Did you see the list? England, France, Norway, Denmark, Switzerland, China, Indonesia, Egypt, Sudan, Belize, Iran, Japan, Hungary, Romania, even Germany. That's not even half of them.

rowantree They need to be found and brought to justice. #wintersoldier #CAisatraitor

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

"Hello, Yasha."

Bucky remembered a name. Steve is so happy he could dance; he restricts himself to a smile, admittedly a big one. Natasha looks like a child on Christmas morning. Steve doesn't know why she's practically bouncing and he doesn't know how she and Bucky know each other, but it doesn't matter right now because Bucky remembers.

Bucky moves his arm furthest from Steve - his metal one - away from his body slightly. Natasha scampers -scampers! - to him and curls herself under and around Bucky the same way Bucky curls under and around Steve, protective and dependant and admiring. . .

And Steve can guess when and where they met now. How magnificent Bucky must have seemed in his efficiency and deadly power to the fearless child Natasha must have been; how such a smart girl would have known that for all his skill, Bucky had something very wrong happening to him; how, if she was close enough to admire and want to protect, Bucky must have been in close contact, maybe he even taught her.

This will be good, for both of them. Bucky moves with Natasha to the baggage and Natasha fists Bucky's suit in her hand, refusing to let go, as she moves out from under Bucky's arm to nudge a canvas bag in Bucky's direction. She pops the trunk, still clutching at Bucky, and pulls out Steve's shield. All the paint has been buffed away. It a solid silver now - simple, unassuming, and always ready for a fight. Steve decides he likes it.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Natashenka slides a bag to it with her foot. It opens the bag and begins to pull out knives. Out of the corner of it's eyes, it watches Natashenka hand the mission his shield, all colors removed. The mission likes the weapon, puts it in the trunk, opens his arms to the asset, chooses the asset as over the shield again. The asset goes to the mission, little Natashenka still holds onto its jacket.

Only when the mission holds it tight does the asset realize it is shaking, now that the threat is over. Maybe from the stimuli, maybe from the little spider, maybe from the voices in its head, maybe over the fact that anyone dared to take a shot at the man it belongs to, maybe from all the choices that need to be made now.

"We are going to go with Natash- Natalia to the place we're going to live for now. Then we are going to eat. After that we are going to wash; you may decide whether it is a bath or a shower. Then we are all going to bed." Those are orders; the asset can follow orders. It must only make one decision and it has a minimum of 75 minutes to do so. The mission takes good care of his weapons. The little spider watches it closely, eyes soft as she knows how to be and still be genuine. It does not know how it knows that.

The mission follows its gaze. "Yeah, Natalia's going to stay with us."

It speaks to the little spider in Russian, "Он знает ваши глаза. (It knows your eyes.)"

"Да, Яша, вы знаете, мои глаза. Мы будем держать вашу миссию безопасно, ты и я. (Yes, Yasha, you know my eyes. We'll keep your mission safe, you and me.)"

It glances at the mission; he beams at the asset. Its chest fills with pride.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

When they make it to the little house, Natasha pulls into the garage; they make sure it's fully closed before they get out of the car. As they walk inside, Natasha tells them about the layout. "One floor, three bedrooms, two bathrooms, three windows, three doors, laundry, living room, kitchen," she taps on a wall panel, "weapons cache. There aren't any cameras, but JARVIS is linked to all the safehouses through the security systems. If we need Stark, go through JARVIS, if possible; if there's an attack, JARVIS will automatically alert Stark. Now, dinner."

Steve makes pasta while Natasha pulls a glass out of the cabinet, pours fluid out of a large container in the pantry. "One super soldier liquid meal." She hands it to Bucky before she pulls her chair as close to him as she can get; Bucky holds her hand. Steve has four plates of pasta before his hunger abates.

After he finishes cleaning his dishes, Steve looks at Bucky. "Okay, Buck. Bath or shower?"

"Shower." Steve is pleased. Bucky gave a solid answer, didn't hesitate, or look cornered.

"Good choice. Let's go."

"May Natashenka come?" He asked for something for himself! Steve wants to sing, but all he says is, "Yes, Buck, Natashenka may come; she may come whenever you want."

They make it all the way to the bathroom before Steve actually thinks about the logistics of the three of them in one bathroom and the fact that Natasha may not want to be in there with two naked super soldiers. "Uh, Tasha, I didn't ask yo-"

"Steve, if I had a problem with it, I'd tell you."

Steve and Bucky are stripped down before Steve realises Natasha has started taking off her shirt. "Woah, wait! That's not- Natasha, I didn't mean to imply that- That isn't what I meant. You don't have to do that."

Natasha gives him a little smile. "I know, Steve. But seeing me naked isn't going to make you uncomfortable."

The mall. She knows. Steve feels all the color drain from his face, knows his voice is small. "I'm sorry. The serum didn't fix that, either." Bucky shifts closer and Steve runs his fingers through his hair to calm them both, to avoid looking at Natasha.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Natasha is suddenly very angry; she knows exactly what he means. "Steve." She waits until he looks at her. "Neither of those things could be fixed because they were not broken. They are not defects. Loving James is not wrong; not wanting sex is not wrong. You are not broken."

Steve just looks lost.

"Did you know there's a word for it? Asexual. And there are seventy million people just like you. It is not something that needs to be fixed. We are going to take this shower, because that is what Yasha wants." With that she pulls off her clothes.

The moment she's nude, Yasha's eyes cut over her. He comes close, inspecting her body, moving her arms away from her sides to check for old and new injuries. She can see Steve's surprise at her overall lack of scarring. There are only three that remain. She can feel him looking at her shoulder, where the bullet wound from the bridge healed without a trace.

Yasha's flesh fingers touch her upper thigh over a pale pink, paper-thin line. "1984." Steve starts visibly piecing it together. "Yugoslavia. Poison-coated blade." Yasha moves his hand to a white scar on her ribs. "1997. Scotland. Chemically-enhanced bullet." He touches the scar above her hip. "2009. Ukraine. Soviet slug."

"That should have healed."

"Yes. I forced it to scar. You shot me." He tries to pulls his hands away, but Natasha won't let him. "I looked for you after, but the Red Room had been shut down and you were no longer in Russia. You had disappeared and I couldn't find you."

His brow tightens. "Я люблю тебя, Яша, и это последнее, что вы мне дали. Я должен был держать его. (I love you, Yasha, and this is the last thing you gave to me. I had to keep it.)"

Yasha nods and she steps into the shower.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

Steve is surprised by how comfortable the shower is with Natasha in there with them. It isn't sexual and Bucky's and Natasha's nonchalance refuses to allow him to feel awkward.

When they get out and dry off, Steve does not get dressed again, but he holds the towel around him, unsure. He finally bites the bullet and leaves the bathroom, Bucky and Natasha following closely behind. He can tell Bucky and Natasha do not want to separate, but Tasha continues towards the next bedroom and Bucky stays with him. Steve pulls his courage around himself.

"Natasha."

She turns back to him, towel up under her armpits, and Steve has the sudden desperate urge to draw her in color, to see if he can capture the way her skin glows, how her candy-red hair shines, the way her eyes reflect the light.

"You can sleep with us, if you want." He turns into the bedroom as he's speaking so he doesn't have to look at her. He doesn't hear anything behind him; he doesn't know why he thought he would, since he can't ever hear either of them unless they're purposefully making noise.

He turns once he reaches the bed; both assassins are behind him. "We normally sleep in the buff, but we can put some shorts on, or just you can get dressed, or I can get you a separate blanket, or-"

"Steve? Shut up."

He drops his towel and gets under the covers, moves so he's on his side against the wall, where Bucky likes him, arm out toward the center of the bed. Buck climbs in after him and lays on his back, head on Steve's arm, metal limb under Steve's waist. Steve sees Natasha drop her towel. She crawls on top of Bucky's chest, child-like, head on his pectorals, torsos aligned, both of her short legs bracketed by Bucky's muscular ones. Buck's flesh hand cradles Natasha's head.

Bucky uses the arm he has under Steve's waist to angle Steve into him. He's worried they'll suffocate Buck with their combined weight, but Bucky manages to make his mouth smile, so Steve doesn't try to move. However, that puts Steve in direct contact with Natasha's arm, side, and hip. His leg brushes hers where he has it thrown over Bucky's calf. Natasha is here for Bucky; she didn't ask to be naked in bed with Steve.

Natasha mutters at him, "Relax, Steve. Go to sleep." Steve controls his breathing. It has been an emotionally draining day and he falls asleep quickly.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

The asset is ecstatic - the asset is not allowed to be ec - ecstatic. Its mission and its little spider are with it. The mission will share and the little spider kept its scar. The asset cannot calm enough for a sleep cycle, despite the mission's request that it take two cycles every twenty-four hours, if it can.

It does not control its expression, allows the pleasure it is experiencing to be revealed on its face. The asset keeps watch all night while its mission and its Natalia sleep quietly next to it.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

US FILES AIDING AND ABETTING AGAINST STARK

TONY STARK TO BE BROUGHT TO COURT

treesarenice Is the government purposefully trying to alienate all of our defenders? Because I bet another country would love to take him - AND HIS MIND AND HIS MONEY AND HIS SUITS AND HIS RESEARCH AND HIS WORLDWIDE CORPORATION - in and give him a lovely home, right next to wherever Rogers and Barnes are.

STARK RECEIVES SUBPOENA FOR IRON MAN SUIT ESCAPE

STARK ON TRIAL?

AIDING AND ABETTING WANTED CRIMINALS GETS STARK A LAW SUIT

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

Tony saunters into the office of Charles Sutton, Attorney General for the United States government, without an appointment.

"Mr. Stark, you can make an appointment just like everyone else."

"Charlie," hey, if he's gonna do this, he might as well do it with flare, "I'm crushed. This isn't a business call; it's a social visit between friends, eh, acquaintances."

Sutton looks at him over his wire-rimmed glasses. Tony isn't Iron Man today; he's a billionaire philanthropist. The armor he presents to the world comes in many different forms. Sometimes it's titanium alloy; sometimes it's imported silk. These men have no idea. He owns this country and all the tech in it. He has had the last four months to position his pieces exactly where he wants them. He could hack into their systems, their weapons, their planes, their defense, their cameras, everything in less time than it takes to wake up JARVIS. But he's a professional poker player, and he isn't going to show his whole hand right now. Just his lowest card.

"Mr. Stark, I really don't have tim-"

"I just had a hypothetical problem and I needed your help. See, in this imagined story, there's a billionaire. He funds, like, 1,386 government programs all by his lonesome and is a huge contributor to other aspects of the government as well. As a whole, he's pretty important to the continued function of the men at the top. He's also a superhero - privatized world peace, came up with awesome new technology, saved the world from aliens, prevented the demise of a city full of civilians from a nuclear bomb sent in by its own government (and wouldn't it be interesting if that story got out). He's also, like really good friends with a bunch of powerful diplomats and businessmen and inventors around the world, not to mention a bunch of super competent superheroes. Now, you see, in this hypothesis, the government tries to charge this very awesome and helpful guy with aiding and abetting two criminals, who just happen to be super-human and really good at killing people. If you were this handsome, wonderful man who is also a genius, what's the first thing you would do?

I'd probably start with removing all funding. Maybe have a press conference and bring some shady and nefarious government actions to light that were brushed under the rug during the trial of an assassin. I mean, you have to know that the genius has copies of everything before the government got it off the internet. Maybe deny the government rights to use any future research, tech, or designs made by the guy or his company. I don't know, it's just a start.

Tell me what would you do? The possibilities are practically endless. Really, I'd like a comprehensive answer. I'll give you a few days, let you talk to some of your buddies. I'll make an appointment for my next visit. How does Thursday at three sound? Great. See you then, Charlie."

Stark smirks to himself as he walks out.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

CHARGES AGAINST STARK DROPPED

US NO LONGER PRESSING CHARGES

STARK GETS OFF SCOT FREE

Whitney Glad you pulled your collective heads out of your assess. Remember what happened last time you tried to take Stark's property?

nutterbutter Just because a guy is rich doesn't give him the right to bully the government into submission #stark #aidingandabbetting

\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

Steve tamps down his temper. Bucky is his priority and nothing else matters. He does not need to go on a vengeful rampage when he has Bucky safe with him. He does not need to, but, oh, how he wants. He doesn't want to break bones and snap necks, no, that is too good for them - for Hydra, and Shield, and the Senate, and the government, and the Americans who wanted Bucky locked away or killed. He wants to peel their skin away and pull their muscles apart while they watch. Wants to hold their lungs in his hand and squeeze, to break open their rib cages and watch them drown in their own blood. Wants to crush their bones into powder and strangle them with their own intestines. These are the things he would do, if Bucky were not here to restrain him, if he were not tied to the leash he holds just as much as Bucky. His anger simmers and he ignores it because it does not matter. Bucky is with Steve and he isn't screaming in terror or agony, so he can push it far enough away from himself that it becomes inconsequential.

He keeps them under the radar. Bucky is perfectly happy never leaving whichever house they're in at the time and, honestly, it's safer if they don't. Natasha has a duffle full of Stark digital facial disguises and wigs of all lengths, volumes, and colors; whenever they need something, whether it be groceries, books, or bubble bath, she puts on a new combination. Otherwise, no one leaves the safe houses.

It's not that Steve is afraid, that he thinks they couldn't punch their way out and disappear again if a team came for them, but Bucky enjoys the stability and the lack of action. Still, once Natasha learned how to make the solution for Bucky herself, they begin changing houses and countries with no discernable time period or plan of movement. As soon as Natasha leaves the house four times, which may take five days or it may take nine weeks, they move to a new safehouse.

With their particular agreement with the governments offering them protection from America - and how he burns with wrath at that -, they do not tell any of the governments in which country they are taking refuge at the moment, just in case someone feels like tipping off someone who would take America's manhunt as an invitation to attempt murder, which is exactly what it is. So they move around.

Bucky doesn't seem to care, as long as he doesn't have to be around people and Steve and Natasha stay with him. He craves their touch at all times, probably always will. There are things people experience that they just can't leave behind and Bucky has too many to count. His language is short and to the point, but he likes to talk; his humor is returning, jaded and sharp and cynical. He hasn't remembered anything from before his time as the asset, but his mind is healing itself. He still keeps his body in fighting form by his own exercises and by sparring with Steve, but he begins reading again, like he used to in the '30s - science, history, maths, geology, engineering, mechanical design, digital software, program design. His brain is like a sponge, sucking in all the information it can. With the serum's eidetic memory enhancements and the lack of wiping and Bucky's natural ability to assimilate information, Stark begins to take notice. Jarvis provides him with increasingly difficult mathematical and scientific problems and is always complimentary when he comes up with the right answer. Bucky and Stark communicate via Jarvis about quantum physics and other things that cannot hold Steve's attention and Bucky practically glows when the conversations end. Buck still loves Steve reading fiction to him, still wants those damn voices. Loves Natasha telling him folktales while she acts out all the characters at once.

Natasha is . . . is something else. Steve thought she would strike out on her own after a while, but she refuses to leave them, to leave her Yasha. Buck remembers her, remembers all but the specifics of missions, remembers his time with the Red Room and Hydra and Steve felt just the barest twinge of jealousy that he remembers all but his years with Steve. That was before Natasha beat some sense into him.

Natasha has him pinned to the floor after she took her frustrations out on him during their hour-long sparring session.

"You want him to remember everything he was before, Steve? How selfish are you?"

Steve knows it's a rhetorical question, doesn't answer, lets her make her point.

"Do you want him to remember the experimentation, too? The breaking of his spirit? The molding of his mind into what he has become?"

She glares at him, hisses. "There is a wall keeping him safe and you want to tear that down so that he remembers he loved you in another life? He already loves you, Rogers! He doesn't need the don't know what you're asking for."

She gets up but does not walk away. "Be satisfied. He is dealing; don't make it worse."

Steve is grateful beyond words for her love and her loyalty. He knows it isn't for him. Natasha loves Steve in the way she can, but the part of her that can love the way that she loves Bucky - intensely, furiously, without reserve or boundaries or remorse - was burned away long ago. She will kill a room full of high-ranking officials for Steve, but she would die for Bucky. He knows she would not do that for anyone else that is still alive, maybe for anyone else ever.

Steve does not know how to label Bucky's and Natasha's relationship, does not know if there is a word for it. They are not lovers, are not siblings, are not parent/child, are not soul mates, or partners, or friends. Whatever they are, Steve knows he will never again blush or stammer over a woman's naked body.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

The sun rises and Steve wakes in a pile of intertwined limbs and warm skin,safe and content; he smiles sleepily at his bed mates. Natasha is snuggled closely into Buck's right side, candied hair knotted over the pillow, leg on Bucky's thigh, mouth open slightly, deeply asleep. Bucky is awake, probably has been for hours, but he is languid and relaxed. His eyes are half-closed and his face is curled with the first traces of a smile. He watches Steve with pleasure and runs cold fingers over Steve's side. He puts the image in his head, will pull out his supplies and draw it later. His sketchbooks are already full to the bursting, but he'll find room somewhere.

As he drifts back to sleep, he realises he can answer Sam's question. He is happy.

They have been on the run for thirty-seven months.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

At forty-three months, Bucky wakes up screaming.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

The asset is in its second sleep cycle. It is in its memory room. Its time with the handlers is organised and separated and locked in the bank deposit boxes that line three of the walls of the dark room. The asset keeps those boxes shut as much as it can, does not need those memories now that it has the mission and the little spider.

It is placing its memories of the day in the open-fronted letter boxes on the wall with all the other memories it has made since carrying the mission away from the river. The lack of doors makes them easy to see, easy to touch; there is a dim backlight in the wall itself. Because the asset does not lock the memories away, they glow in the darkness.

As the asset finishes its organizing, it keeps two memories and turns to the table in the center of the room, the table where the asset was made. There is a light from the ceiling shining on all of the memories on top of the steel, keeping them bright and vivid.

The asset's left hand is for the mission, has always been for the mission. Its left arm is stronger, is protective and restraining and is what the mission needs. The asset grasps at the mission with adamantium fingers and no one will be able to force the asset to let go of the mission except the mission himself. It will get to belong to the mission forever. It looks down at the table, attempts to find the best place for the memory in its hand.

The asset is aiding the mission in preparing the morning meal. The asset enjoys it, the procedure, the mission's proximity and joking tone.

"Wow, Buck, you may want to apply to culinary school with those skills. You only burnt one piece of toast this time."

The mission smirks and the asset's eyes smile back. In retaliation for his teasing, the asset steals the mission's toast and eats the whole piece. The toast is the first piece of food the asset has ever eaten, is delicious. It wants more. It takes another piece and eats that too.

The mission's smile is brighter than the sun and the asset is giddy with its accomplishments.

The asset's right arm is for Natashenka. Little Natalia does not need from the asset what the mission needs from the asset. She does not need to be restrained, to be held back from ripping the world apart by holding back the weapon that wants to cut the world to pieces. No, Natalia wants to set the world on fire, but she does not need any restraint but herself. She does not need the asset to protect her; the asset taught her how to be the best. She can protect herself. The little spider needs the asset's affection, so she gets its right arm - weaker, less defensive, but softer, gentler. It looks at today's memory of Natalia in its hand.

Natalia and it are in the bathroom with the door open, preparing to take a bath; the mission is on the couch, drawing. Natashenka gives it a wicked little smile and empties an entire 30 milliliter container of blueberry scented bubble bath into the tub. They get in the ceramic basin; by the time Natalia turns the hot water off, the bubbles cover the room. The asset can barely get a visual on Natashenka's hair and the fluff conceals the floor, is as high as the sink. Natalia giggles and the asset manages a grin and the mission glances up from his art and laughs long and hard. The asset ducks under the water to remove the bubbles from its hair-

\- It cannot come up. The water is 2° and the asset cannot come up. There are harsh hands on its shoulders and a grate above its head and it cannot come up. The asset knows how to survive this, was created knowing how to survive this, but this asset is panicking. There is an electric shock throughout the water and this asset cannot contain the scream. The grate is pulled back and cruel hands yank it out. This asset is sobbing and screaming and pleading for bloodied knuckles and thin shoulders and eyes that hold the sky.

"Steve! Make them stop! Please! Make them stop! Stevie! Steve! STEVE!"

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

They cannot wake him up. Steve and Natasha stare at each other is horror. They cannot wake him up. Bucky is screaming Steve's name for the first time since 1945 and he is begging Steve to save him and Steve cannot wake him up, cannot save him from the terror in his head, cannotcannotcannot. He has never before been so useless.

"Snap out of it, Rogers!" He sucks in air; he could breathe better during asthma attacks.

" Собака, проснуться! (Dog, wake up!)"

Natasha and Steve watch as the asset's body obeys its secondary handler's command, but the mind of James Barnes is stuck in the middle of a memory.

He is sobbing. "Steve! Make them stop!"

"I'm here, Buck. I'm here. I'll make them stop. I promise. I'll make them stop."

He gathers Bucky close and Bucky tries to crawl into his skin, buries his face in his neck. Natasha gathers the blankets, presses herself to Buck's back so he is completely encased in people who love him, wraps the comforter around them all.

Natasha was right. Bucky remembering Steve's name wasn't worth this. She begins to croon a lullaby to him in Russian and they all sit there, shaking for hours: Bucky with terror, Natasha with sorrow, Steve with hate.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Yasha spends the next day completely enclosed in Steve. He will not allow Steve to leave and Steve will not let him go. Jarvis must have informed Stark because he shows up in a nondescript car at 1615. Natasha lets him in. He has never come before, but he shares a special bond with Yasha. He looks tired, like he hasn't slept in three days, like he dropped whatever he was working on and came straight away. He is older, a bit more gray at the temples. His face has a few more lines and Natasha remembers that eventually he will die. It makes her wonder if Steve and Yasha age at all.

"What happened?"

"His first pre-asset memory surfaced. Apparently, it was unpleasant." That is an understatement. Natasha has never, not once, seen Yasha scream like that. It terrified her.

Stark breathes out heavily. "How is he?"

"Come."

She leads him to the living room where the super soldiers sit on the couch. They are unclothed and Natasha is glad she put Steve's shirt on before she opened the door or she'd never hear the end of it. She wonders if Stark is going to comment on it, but he doesn't even blink. Stark's lips are a white line as he watches how Yasha quivers. He puts on a grin and swaggers over to where Barnes is huddled in Steve's lap.

"Hey, buddy. I thought I'd come pay you a visit. Haven't spoken to you in a whole 38 hours and was starting to get lonesome. I got started on that stealth tech we were talking about; looks like we missed something."

Stark's voice has encouraged Yasha to angle the face just far enough out of Steve's neck that he can watch Stark prattle on. Prattle on he does. For five hours, Stark goes on about engines, thrusters, energy input, and long complicated mathematical equations. In increments, Yasha stops shaking, begins to uncurl. When Stark pauses for a quick breath at five hours and twenty-three minutes and leaves an open-ended question, Yasha gives an answer. Stark just takes it in stride.

"There's an idea. Jarvis, did you get that? Change the equation to fit that in."

Stark and Yasha talk together for three more hours, Stark moving his hands elaborately and Yasha sitting relaxed in Steve's embrace. Natasha and Steve just smile in relief.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Stark stays with them for a week. Steve gets dressed and Bucky follows his lead; he may like Stark, but that doesn't mean he wants to walk around in the buff with him here. Despite Steve's and Stark's rocky relationship, he and Buck get along like a house on fire.

It is a good thing Stark is there because, every time Bucky closes his eyes, he is met with some new horror. Natasha can sing him out of his screaming and Steve can hold him until he stops shaking, but it is Stark and his technical jargon that pulls Bucky out of his head.

As the week wears on, Steve can see Stark's resolve harden, knows he has another ally. He walks Stark to the door as he makes to leave.

"Get Jarvis if he needs me to talk to him. The time doesn't matter; I'll probably be awake."

Steve moves closer. "If I asked you to compile a list of every person still living that handled Bucky or knew he was being used, would you do that?"

Dark eyes flash in realisation and a dangerous smirk curls his mouth, approval. "Yes, that is something I could very much do."

"If I asked you to compile a list of every government official who wanted Bucky imprisoned or executed by level of adamance and power, would you do that?"

Whiskey eyes are cut amber and sharp. "Yes, that is also something I could do. On one condition."

Steve holds his gaze. "You don't go alone."

Bucky and Natasha pad out on silent feet from behind the corner. Bucky's eyes are an ice storm and Natasha's smile is full of pointed teeth. "He won't be."

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

The following ten months are difficult. Stark gets the lists to them in seven weeks, but the mission decides to wait until the asset is more stable. None of their sleep is restful for long.

The asset has created new containment holes in the memory room. The floor - the foundation - is now full of hinged doors and glass, some memories it likes to look at while others it covers. It decides that it is James Buchanan Barnes and that it is a he, but it is also the asset and an it. There are traits that the weapon and the he share; there are traits the asset left behind long ago. The asset decides James Buchanan Barnes would understand what he has become, would not hold that against it, would tell it to watch out for that reckless asshole you decided to belong to. James Buchanan Barnes would understand why the asset must put him in the floor, that it does not want to touch those memories or the ones that hurt. They all go in the floor and James Buchanan Barnes would understand because the asset will be able to protect the mission Stevie better than James Buchanan Barnes ever could.

The mission stands over a glass plate, watches its favorite memory of who it used to be, who it will never be again, who it will not attempt to be.

The mission Stevie is walking beside James Buchanan Barnes on the sidewalk. Just walking and conversing, not going anywhere or doing anything, just walking. The mission Stevie says something cutting and sassy, just like he always does, and James Buchanan Barnes thinks Christ, I love him so much. James Buchanan Barnes almost leans in to kiss the mission Stevie before he remembers he's in the middle of the city. Instead, he grins and snarks something sarcastic back. The words are unimportant, the setting, the bystanders, the weather, the exits are all unimportant. In that moment, the only thing that matters is that James Buchanan Barnes loves the mission Stevie. Everything else is extraneous.

The mission waits for the daily horror to creep up in its periphery. It has a hole in the floor in the corner by the wall where it stored its time with the Americans ready for the new memory that will arrive tonight. It has been practicing this maneuver for months, almost has it perfected. When it is perfected, then the mission Stevie and Natalia and the asset will put their skill sets to use for the first time in years. The memory has come. It must watch the memory through.

When it is over, the asset picks the memory up and puts it in the hole in the floor, closes the door over it, secures the locks. It was awful; it hates what it shows that happened to James Buchanan Barnes, what happened to it. But James Buchanan Barnes broke under what was done to him and the asset was made. James Buchanan Barnes cannot come back; he will break again and he will not be fixable this time, the asset knows somehow. The asset will remain and James Buchanan Barnes will stay safe and whole with the tiny mission Stevie in the the floor, far away from the horrors hidden in this corner. The the only other thing the asset can do for him is to protect the mission.

The asset regains consciousness and turns into the mission Stevie who already is holding the asset as close as physically possible. Natashenka molds herself to its back. The asset is covered in warm skin and it belongs to the mission Stevie and Natalia Romanova loves Yasha. The asset controls the shaking in twenty-four minutes, a new record. When it can control the shaking in twenty minutes, they will go out and begin picking people off the list made by Anthony Stark.

The asset will not show any mercy.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Eleven months and twenty-seven days after the first time Yasha wakes up screaming, he has his coping mechanisms down to a science. Steve and she agree that he is stable enough for them to begin their version of justice. The year it has taken Yasha to sort himself out - to determine who he is going to be, to take memories of a life he has left behind and store them, to choose to be the asset - has not cooled Steve's wrath, has only made it grow hotter as Yasha wakes up shaking every night. Natasha's own anger has frozen; it is hard and sharp and honed to a fine edge and it is going to be her weapon.

Stark and Yasha have perfected the stealth tech and Stark has delivered to them a Quinjet that will never need to come down and has the ability to completely disappear. Natasha approves. This mission is justice and vengeance and fear and Natasha looks forward to it.

She has red in her ledger and she has left behind the ideology that she needs to wipe it out; she is going to soak the pages in crimson.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

They have organised the list in the way that best makes their point; those who handled Bucky or knew how he was being treated are going to pay first. Their actions will be swift and precise and the 189 people on that list will hide, but there will be no hiding - no escaping - from the ghost they once commanded.

It has been more than four and a half years since the Winter Soldier trial, but it is time to hand out the verdicts of those who are to be held accountable, who Steve has judged and deemed guilty.

The names of those in positions of power or influence - Senate members, government officials, military officers, CEOs, anyone who put money or force behind punishing Bucky - tallies at 6, 724. 2, 009 will receive personal visits from either Natasha or himself, will not be killed, will be punished in a lesser form. The remaining 4, 715 will die - least powerful to most powerful and those at the top will learn what it means to fear.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

MAN KILLED BY HEADSHOT IN TIMES SQUARE

evilunicorn I was walking right by him when he went down

MAN STRANGLED IN CHICAGO

WOMAN SHOT IN THE HEAD IN SMALL TOWN

MAN FOUND WITH THROAT SLIT

WOMAN DEAD, SKULL CRUSHED

MAN FOUND WITH INTESTINES REMOVED

HEADSHOT KILLS WOMAN IN DC

HEADSHOT KILLS MAN IN TALLAHASSEE

HEADSHOT KILLS COUPLE IN SEATTLE

LA RESIDENT FOUND DEAD, LEG BONES CRUSHED

ANOTHER GRUESOME MURDER! MAN FOUND WITH LEFT ARM RIPPED OFF

MAN FOUND ASPHYXIATED WITH HIS OWN GENITALS

HEADSHOTS KILL FOUR IN LANGLEY

David Rengle I am a criminology student at NYU and I have been researching the recent string of murders across the US as part of my final thesis. These are not random murders; they are all planned kills. I'm sure many of you remember the file dump from a security organisation known as SHIELD almost five years ago. It was followed by the Winter Soldier trial and very few others. Most of the people who were indicated in the organisation known as HYDRA disappeared into the woodwork during the Winter Soldier trial and the hunt for Steve Rogers AKA Captain America and James Barnes AKA Winter Soldier that followed. Well, I went and pulled all their records - ALL their records. Each and every person that has been killed in the list of 129 victims below was a member of that group. If you want my opinion, I think the Winter Soldier is back and hunting down the people who used him.

HEADSHOTS KILL TWO IN TAMPA

ORLANDO WOMAN STRANGLED

NEW ORLEANS MAN BEATEN TO DEATH

WOMAN KILLED IN TOPEKA

MAN CHOKED TO DEATH WITH OWN GENITALIA

HEADSHOT TAKES OUT WOMAN IN NEVADA

MAN FOUND: ALL BONES GROUND INTO POWDER

WOMAN FOUND DEAD IN HER HOME

HEADSHOT KILLS ANOTHER IN NEW YORK CITY

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

The asset slices its way through its old handlers. It is clean, efficient, deals out death in headshots. The mission Stevie is violent, bloody, beautiful in his wrath; the asset loves him. Little Natalia is grace and elegance and demise.

They started with the targets that were outside of the United States; there were only thirty-four. The remaining targets are hunted down and meet with the asset's crosshairs, the mission's fists, or the little spider's smile. One by one, its old handlers are crossed off.

The list holds three more names.

Target: acquired

Shot: approved

Target: terminated

The list holds two more names.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

Natasha lets herself into the apartment of Gregory Suntherd, the agent in charge of the cryogenesis pod for the Winter Soldier. She glides into his bedroom and is met with the barrel of a gun. He was expecting her then. Good.

"Hello, Greg."

He is sweating and his arms tremor.

"I will shoot you."

She smiles, a baring of teeth, a show of aggression and dominance, a threat that she will rip open his yielding throat.

She slits his neck before he has time to blink. He tumbles lifelessly to the ground, burgundy spills over cream.

She leaves without a trace.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Brock Rumlow is not a stupid man. He knows the asset is coming for him. He's prepared, has the codes to shut him down memorised and ready to use.

But the Winter Soldier isn't the one hunting him.

He's on his nightly run through the trees when a figure emerges.

"Код активации: Спутник. (Activation code: Sputnik.)"

The figure does not collapse and Steve Roger's voice says, "Rumlow."

He's in for a world of pain.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

GRUESOME MURDER SITE FOUND IN WOODS

POLICE SAY CRIME SCENE WAS "HORRIFIC"

Redcapes The papers couldn't print it because it was too graphic, but these are what's on the police and coroners' reports: skin peeled off of body, muscles pulled apart, intestines pulled out and placed around body in a circle, genitals pulled (not cut) off, all bones in limbs ground to powder, ribs pulled out of the spine and broken (blood eagle, look it up, if you don't know), lungs pulled out and crushed, spine snapped, hips shattered, jaw broken, teeth cracked, larynx crushed, eyes popped out of sockets, stomach split open, hydrochloric acid burns from stomach contents, skull crushed. It has been determined that the victim was alive to the very end.

WOODS MURDER VICTIM IDENTIFIED AS BROCK RUMLOW

David Rengle I feel this latest death (see link here) has only solidified my hypothesis. Brock Rumlow was an agent of the organisation SHIELD and a member of the terrorist organisation HYDRA. He was on the STRIKE team with Captain Rogers and is believed to have been the primary handler for the Winter Soldier for the last eight years of the Winter Soldier's time with HYDRA.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

Steve likes lists. List are good. There's something calming about them; they put things in perspective. Sometimes he gets to check off items, something to aim for, a goal to accomplish. When the last objective is blotted out, he can enjoy a job well done, revel in his success, start a new list. Oh, is he thrilled to be starting the next list.

Rumlow's death was satisfying in a way Steve's never known before. It sated a bloodthirsty part of him he's kept locked away; now that side of him is glutted on Rumlow's agony and the blood that coated his arms. Steve knows, now that the monster in him has feasted, it will be snarling to fill its starving stomach soon.

Luckily, there are over 4,000 soon-to-be-dead guilty individuals waiting for him.

Steve likes lists.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

LOWER LEVEL OFFICIALS DYING IN DROVES

HUNDREDS OF GRAPHIC DEATHS

SKIN PEELED OFF OF DEAD BODIES

BONE-CRUSHER KILLER STRIKES AGAIN

WITNESS ACCOUNT: BLACK WIDOW DECIDED NOT TO KILL ME

HEADSHOT KILLER CONFIRMED: WINTER SOLDIER

CAPTAIN AMERICA IS THE BONE GRINDER

DEATH TOLL REACHES 3,500

HUNDREDS CLAIM VISITS FROM BLACK WIDOW

SENATE MEMBER DISMEMBERED

dailytimes Don't make jokes over these heinous actions.

FOUR HOUSE OF REPRESENTATIVE MEMBERS FOUND STRANGLED

HEADSHOTS KILL 65 IN DC

THREE SENATORS OF THE WINTER SOLDIER SUBCOMMITTEE DEAD; GRUESOME

"BLACK WIDOW SAID 'THIS IS MERCY' AND WALKED AWAY"

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

The man drops at Steve's feet in a sobbing heap. He begs for his life, says he'll do anything.

Steve smirks. "You'll do anything at all?"

Gasping breaths and hope in his eyes. "Yes, yes, anything."

"Kill a man?"

He nods pathetically, whimpers.

That isn't enough. "Say it."

"I'd kill a man."

"You haven't even been subjected to torture. I believe you would find yourself guilty, if your past rulings are any indication. What was the result of that trial?" Steve taps a finger to his lips and the man pales. "Death penalty."

Steve grins and the man shrieks.

The monster in Steve has a good time that night.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Natasha slips into the house of the very last man on their list. He is a CEO of a pharmaceutical company, 53, divorced, two children. He looks up from his scholarly journal to see her standing there, silent and beautiful in the doorway to his study.

He falls out of his chair, cowers in front of her. "Please, I didn't mean any harm! Don't kill me!"

She smiles, exquisite and full of spite. "I am not here to kill you." He trembles, dares to glance at her from between his fingers. "I am here to tell you that we decided to let you live. Do not make us regret our mercy."

With that she is gone, an apparition that blows away like so much mist.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

KILLING SPREE HAS QUIETED

ARE THE MURDERS AT AN END?

CAPTAIN AMERICA, WINTER SOLDIER, BLACK WIDOW: ARE THEY DEAD?

NO DEATHS LINKED TO THE VIGILANTES FOR SEVEN MONTHS

wethreestooges I think they came out of hiding to bring vengeance (or justice, depending on your POV). They're done now. They only targeted those who had targeted them in the WS trial. I don't think you'll find them, unless they want to be found.

Jonah Valco This is an outrage. We need to be doing everything we can to find them and bring them in.

STILL OFFERING ASYLUM TO MURDERERS

memyselfandyou Only three countries withdrew their offers of protection #CA #WS #BW

seerofwind The fact is that Steve Rogers, James Barnes, and Natasha Romanoff have given the nations giving them asylum no reason to believe that they will endanger their citizens in any way. They were off the grid for five years and went about living their lives quietly without bothering anyone. They weren't killing random victims here.

CAPTAIN AMERICA WINTER SOLDIER BLACK WIDOW DEATH TOLL 4,904

Sarah Jones They were trying to make a point. Those who go after them die a messy death. Out of the three, the kindest death you could receive is from Barnes. Talk about irony. The answer to this problem is simple: Don't. Go. After. Them.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Justice has been meted out. The names are all crossed out in red. The mission is complete.

They are ghosts. They are free. They disappear.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

"I'm in the mood for pancakes and blueberry syrup on the beach."

"Sounds good to me. Buck?"

"It enjoys blueberry syrup."

"Perfect." Natasha sets the Quinjet on a path to Indonesia.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

They are ghosts again. Steve doesn't mind. Justice has been served. The monster that was howling for violence is sleeping contentedly and locked back in its cage.

They are ghosts again. Steve doesn't mind. Natasha is curled on Bucky's chest and Bucky is cradled against Steve. There are bubble baths and sketches and games of tag that should be impossible to accomplish and new meals for Bucky to try.

They are ghosts again. Steve doesn't mind. His family is with him.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

It is 2043 and Natasha is 46 years old.

Yasha and Steve have not aged a day; she doubts they ever will.

Stark died four years ago at the age of 81. He was warm in his bed and Yasha cried. Yasha carries Jarvis with him always now - Tony Stark's last gift to him.

"I'm in the mood for some cliff diving."

Yasha perks up. "Africa?"

Steve smiles. "Let's go."

Natasha grabs their bags; they are free.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

The asset and the mission Stevie are the only ones left. The flame that was Natalia Alianova Romanova sputtered out 31 years, 8 months, 13 days ago. The asset thinks of her everyday. Natalia did not go out in a blaze of glory that most would have expected of the Black Widow; little Natashenka died where she was happiest: curled up on the asset's chest and cradled in its arms. Flame-red hair had faded, but the cat-green eyes were still sharp; her skin had wrinkled, but her smile was as genuine as she knew how to make it.

"Наталья Романова любит вас. (Natalia Romanova loves you.)" Green eyes are branded into its skull.

Its chest is too light, too empty. Its right side is too cold. There is no more fiery hair in its periphery; no more mocking green eyes watching it from across the table. There are no more Russian lullabies and no more Slavic pastries.

It watches the sky from where it stands on the balcony. The sky is dark red, threatening a storm. Natashenka would have admired the danger it presents.

The mission's arms are wrapped around the asset's waist, head resting on its left shoulder. The mission is quiet, lets the asset reminence. There is a book on the bed in the house that is begging to be read aloud. The mission's drawing pad is on the dresser. Jarvis waits for them and Natalia doesn't.

They stand there watching the sky until the storm breaks.

The mission mutters into the asset's neck. "Let's go."

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

They disappear.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

FIN.


End file.
